On the Shoulders of Giants
by candicemon
Summary: What they didn't see coming was life in the aftermath. Post series, EWE, mentions character death. This work is not for profit and is not intended as copyright infringement.
1. The End of Everything

On The Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 1: The End of Everything

A great sigh of relief could be heard through the whole of the Great Hall. As suddenly as the silence fell it was lifted and cheers rose, filling the room and the hearts of those who had fought valiantly.

There was no more Voldemort. No more reign of terror, no more fighting.

No more death.

Hermione Granger sobered slightly as she recalled the fallen, one in particular. She knew that she had to recover the body of the valiant Professor Snape from the Shrieking Shack. He was a hero, she knew, and she only wished that he had lived long enough to see his tarnished name cleared.

Her eyes met Harry's from across the room where he stood amongst a gaggle of students and staff, looking decidedly uncomfortable. With an easy smile he bolted in her direction, obviously unable to stand the adulation for another second.

Hermione covered the small remaining distance and threw her arms around him, audibly knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Harry James Potter," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears, "don't you ever scare me like that again!"

He laughed, the deep timbre vibrating against her rib cage. "I promise," he said, and looking into his eyes she knew that he truly meant it.

Hemione wiped the moisture from underneath her eyes and took a shuddering breath. "Harry," she said quickly, "we need to go get Professor Snape's body."

He froze. "I suppose you're right," he said slowly, eyes not leaving hers. "It wouldn't be right to leave him there, not with everything that he's done for us."

Hermione nodded decisively before biting her lip. "Do you...d'you think we should bring Ron along?"

Both teens turned to gaze sadly at the Weasley family, all of whom were standing vigil beside Fred's lifeless form. Harry shook his head, pain coloring his features.

"I think they've got enough to deal with right now, honestly," he said, his voice cracking a bit. Hermione's heart broke for him. She knew how much he loved the Weasleys, considered them family even.

"Alright," she said decisively, looking anywhere but at the redheaded family in a concentrated effort not to sob uncontrollably. "Let's go."

ooOoo

As they made their way across the grounds, Hermione couldn't help but to catalogue the damage in her head. The Quidditch pitch, most noticeably, was nothing but rubble and ash. The ground was scorched and chunks of it and the castle were ravaged, in some cases even gone completely. The air smelled of death and destruction and in places the ground had been soaked through with a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. The castle which they had once called their home was now a barren wasteland of a battlefield and the sight gave Hermione pause.

With a pained look she took Harry's hand and squeezed in a desperate attempt to comfort them both.

She knew that he looked upon this place with the utmost fondness and that the castle's current state hurt him deeply. Still she couldn't help but feel a sort of hope; Voldemort was gone, and there was a future for them and their world.

They held hands across the grounds to the entrance at the Whomping Willow. Using a long stick she darted beneath the flailing limbs and by some stroke of luck (and a little bit of knowledge concerning the workings of physics - thank Merlin for her parents and their lifelong interest in the Muggle sciences) she managed to hit the little knot controlling the tree's movements. The two friends scrambled down the passage, bemoaning how much tighter it was now that they were no longer third years. They came out in the Shack.

Both teens blinked.

The room was clean. Pristine, even, despite the fact that only a few hours before a man had been murdered there.

It was...puzzling.

Harry turned to Hermione, the question evident on his face before he voiced it aloud. "Are we missing something? He was..." he trailed off, scratching his head. Hermione spoke up.

"He was dead," she said flatly, her face scrunching up in obvious confusion. "Or...he was dying. Wasn't he?"

Harry let out a noise that seemed to be half disbelief and half snort of derision. "I doubt he would have shown those memories to me otherwise."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "So, what do we do?"

He shrugged. "What can we do? We don't even know what happened. For all we know, Snape is alive and well and on his way to Majorca."

With a sigh, the teens turned and trudged back towards the castle. Finally Hermione voiced the question that she'd been thinking since the shack.

"Hey Harry?"

"Yes?"

"...why Majorca?"

ooOoo

Back in the Great Hall, the celebration had wound down into a sort of mournful wake in the memory of those who had passed. People were gathered in small groups, some around loved ones, some off to the side of the room. Harry and Hermione immediately made their way towards the Weasley family, all of whom were still gathered beside Fred's body.

Hermione's hand entangled itself with Ron's, intending to provide moral support. To her intense alarm, Ron did not return her sqeeze. His limp appendage fell from her grip after a minute of some incredibly awkward hand-holding and Hermione shuffled her feet in discomfort. After the kiss that they'd shared she had hoped that their budding relationship would move forward but it seemed that he would not even accept her attempts to comfort him in his time of need. She decided then to give him space to mourn, despite the hurt that she felt over the idea.

She turned to speak to Harry, only to frown as another stab of pain ripped through her gut. Harry was kneeling next to the prostrate form of Remus Lupin, an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione's heart broke for him. She dropped to the ground next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. He shifted until he could wrap his arm around her waist and then buried his head in the crook of her neck, shaking almost imperceptibly. She embraced him without hesitation.

"Harry," she whispered, almost crooning in her attempt to comfort her best friend. He let out what sounded like a sob and she continued, "this was not your fault, do you hear me? I know you feel guilty, but I also know that Professor Lupin - R-r-remus," she stuttered out, and Harry cried harder. "He would want you to live your life," she gasped, emotion clogging her throat.

After a long while Harry pulled away, rubbing his eyes furiously. "Thank you, 'Mione," he said sincerely, and she smiled a bit at the sentiment. "You've been so great through all of this, and you're right." He ignored the look of abject shock on her face and plowed through regardless. "I know I've been difficult..." she snorted at this and he gave her a mock glare, "but I've spent too much of my life feeling guilty for things outside of my control. Now that all of this," he waved his hand absently, "is really over, well...I want to live my life. I'll miss them. I don't know if it will ever not hurt to think about the people that we lost to this stupid war but," he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, "letting this destroy me won't bring them back." He looked at her sheepishly, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. Hermione beamed.

"That's very mature of you, Harry," she said, and he blushed furiously.

"We've all sort of been forced to grow up I guess."

She nodded. "I guess the question is, where do we go from here?"

Harry grinned. "I may have an idea," he said, his voice laced with mischief.

Hermione just shook her head and smiled.

a/n. Hello and welcome! I started writing this little project at work as a way to pass the time and then suddenly I was making scene cards and character goals and there was _exposition_. If you made it to the end, please review! I would love some feedback.


	2. All of the Things I've Ever Known

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter Two: All of the Things I've Ever Known

Harry gestured widely. "Welcome to Grimmauld Place," he said proudly, a small smile on his otherwise passive face. Hermione knew that it was only his pleasure at the current situation that kept the sadness at bay. She looked around at their current company and couldn't help but grin.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry's theatrics. "I lived here too, you know," she said sarcastically, ruining the effect by winking at Hermione. Harry chuckled and elbowed her gently.

"Fine, I'll take the others. You and 'Mione know where your rooms are, go...unpack or something," he groused, still smiling a bit.

Ginny stuck out her tongue before grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her in the direction of the stairs. Hermione turned wildly and yelled, "Call if you need us, Harry!"

She pivoted back towards Ginny and together they made their way up the bleak staircase. Gazing around, Hermione had to admit that the changes made to Grimmauld Place were pretty mind blowing.

The elf heads no longer resided on the wall. The place was much cleaner than they'd ever seen and the rooms seemed much brighter, light filtering in through curtains that had once been dusty and thick.

They had Kreacher to thank for much of the change.

It had taken her a while to get used to asking the house-elf for, well, anything. Fortunately, he had seemed to respond when they treated him with some respect and she had developed a sort of rapport with the creature. She came to look upon him fondly and they often exchanged kind words now, passing in the halls.

Gone were the days of Mrs. Black's portrait haunting them from the main hall. Harry had finally taken things into his own hands and purchased some Muggle tools, removing it amongst her horrified screeching with a smile on his face.

He had found also that he liked working with his hands, a fact that Hermione had been not at all surprised by. She thought that he probably gained a great deal of satisfaction from having control over something, anything, when he'd had none in his life previously.

Hermione and Ginny parted ways on the landing and the former took a break from her train of thought to wave merrily as the girl continued to the next floor, where she'd chosen a room. Hermione herself had opted to take up residence in one of the larger rooms on this floor for the sole purpose of having a place to store her personal library.

It had taken a bit of wand-waving and some highly advanced transfiguration, but Hermione had designed the room to her own intense specifications. The walls were lined with shelves with the exception of one wall, which had been magically painted a dark blue and had her bed pushed up against it. The bed itself was massive. It had been transfigured from a throw pillow that had rested on her bed at home (she was never so glad for her sentimentality as when she found those bedclothes bundled underneath the tent in her beaded bag) and was quite plush. It was not up to Hogwarts standards, but it was a far sight better than the wretched mattress that had formerly occupied the room. It was also much less likely to murder her in her sleep.

She enlarged her trunk and sat on the top with a happy sigh. A knock at the door pulled her from her stupor.

"Come in," she called, and Harry stuck his head in.

"Tour's done," he announced. "Luna and Neville are putting their stuff away and then we figured we'd meet in the kitchen for some tea. You in?"

Hermione beamed. "I'll be right down."

ooOoo

So life moved on. The five young adults struck a rhythm, living there in Grimmauld Place. Ginny and Luna were still technically Hogwarts students, though they were of age, so they were enjoy a relaxing summer, mostly consisting of visits to the park across the street. Harry, likewise, had decided to take a relaxing summer off from any responsibilities, school, dark overlords, et al, and was spending his days puttering around the house, visiting with his friends when they were in and making experimental magical alterations to the house when they weren't. He'd developed a knack for charms, and he beamed widely when anyone mentioned it. Hermione therefore had taken to complimenting him often on this skill, if only to see him so deliriously happy once again.

She and Neville had taken a very different path. Both were determined to find a job, and spent much of the time running down postings and writing and re-writing cover letters and credentials. This common purpose had served as a catalyst for the very odd friendship that the two Gryffindors developed and the two often found themselves bent over parchment in the late evening, scribbling and scratching out and swapping projects to proof read (mostly at Neville's behest, but still.)

Hermione wouldn't mention the still very real fallout of the war to anyone because the other four, even Neville with his rather dismal test scores in almost every subject that mattered, were so terribly happy during that time. Living together, adults, alive, had a strange effect on them all. Life was wonderful and they had friends to support them when it wasn't (and wouldn't you know that the worst of the bad stuff was over; everything else was easy in comparison), so they'd finally opened themselves up to light and happiness. There was no room in Grimmauld Place for shadows, so Hermione kept her fears flush against her chest and didn't let anyone, not even Harry, get the slightest glimpse.

She knew that the happy-go-lucky paradise that they were living in was a lie, or at least, only visible to them. She was really the only one who visited the outside world. Ginny refused to even go and see her family, sending weekly owls in her place. Fred's funeral had been the last night that she'd spent in her childhood home. Hermione expected that the place held many painful memories for her and didn't pry. She herself was avoiding visiting the Burrow, for very different reasons.

Ron had all but disappeared into himself. He was a shell of a person, frankly, and visiting him was difficult because he simply refused to respond. She had gone to see him once, a week after the funeral, and he spent the time staring blankly at the wall of his room. Molly, tears in her eyes, had confided to Hermione that she was afraid he simply couldn't deal with the death of his brother. Hermione privately agreed but did not respond beyond hugging the older woman tightly. After that night, she thought that it might be best if the family dealt with his grief privately and did not return to see him. She sent letters, at first daily, then weekly, and the longer they returned unopened, the less she felt welcome in the life of one of her best friends.

She didn't mention it though. They all deserved this sliver of happiness.

So Hermione kept it all together. For a time.

ooOoo

Harry happened upon her in the library late one Monday evening, face streaked with tears. His face showed momentary panic and he knelt beside her, gently sliding his hand into her own.

"Hey," he said lamely, and she chuckled, the sound wet in her throat.

"Hey yourself," she mumbled, voice thick. He squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione smiled at his soft, almost hesitant tone, and suddenly felt very silly for bawling all over the place like an infant. She sighed, gripping the lifeline his hand provided.

"They rejected me," she said simply, pulling more than a dozen scrolls from the pocket of her jumper. Harry started uncomprehendingly, so she elaborated.

"I applied for several positions. Within the Ministry, with Masters in several subjects, even with a university in France that accepts magical students from all over. They all said no." Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she fought to keep them at bay, to no avail. Harry was gaping at her.

"They just said no? But they must have given some reason! Why?"

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Pick one. Not enough experience or training in the field, most commonly. Some flat out insult my blood status," she choked. Through the wet cloud of tears she saw a look of utter outrage overtake her best friend's face.

"Blood status? You're a bloody war hero!" He looked murderous. Hermione admonished him with a look.

"Harry! Language!"

He grinned. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all.

Hermione allowed a small smile to grace her face and Harry's grin widened. Suddenly he stood, pulling her with him.

"Come with me," he requested in a voice that left no room for argument, and led her across the room to the shelves he had claimed for his own personal collection. He dropped her hand and shuffled through the books until he found the one he was after.

She stared at him in confusion as he dropped a worn and battered copy of Hogwarts, a History into her arms. He waited for one heartbeat, then two, for her to react. When it became apparent that she did not get the point that he was trying to make he sighed, like he was dealing with an incredibly small child, and his hands joined hers on the book.

"When we were at Hogwarts, you quoted this book almost every day. In fact, you quoted almost every book at least once a day. You knew everything. You still do. These bigoted idiots don't see you, Hermione. They don't see the girl that loves to learn more than anything else in the world. They don't know the 11 year old who would rather have died than be expelled from school," at this Hermione had to laugh a little, cheeks very pink, "and they don't know that you would be the hardest, most efficient employee that they could hire. But that's not the point. Hermione, you don't need some Ministry job or an apprenticeship. You know where you belong. You've known your whole life what you would one day be doing with it."

He stared at her, intensely, like he was looking into her soul. She felt his words planting themselves inside of her head, making themselves at home.

"That girl who loves learning? It's up to her to make sure the next generation loves it, too."

Something clicked in her brain and she felt a giant whoosh fill her chest, like the last piece of one of those giant thousand-piece puzzles falling perfectly into place. Her mouth dropped and she stared at Harry, breathless.

He looked very smug indeed. "You're welcome," he said, and kissed her cheek softly before walking towards the door. Before he had reached it, though, he paused, his next words causing her stomach to drop unpleasantly.

"It isn't your fault, this thing with Ron," he whispered, but she heard him as though he were speaking clearly. He wasn't done, however. "It's okay if you move on." With that he swept out into the hall, leaving Hermione just as confounded as when he had found her.

ooOoo

The rest of the week flew by and suddenly it was Saturday. She had spent the whole week running about, drafting new cover letters and making sure that she had all of her paperwork in order.

It had been nothing short of exhausting.

For tonight, however, Hermione would put her mind to rest and enjoy what had become a Grimmauld Place tradition over the last few weeks: Saturday night dinner. During the rest of the week, the group took their meals sporadically, sometimes alone or with one of the others, sometimes elsewhere, but on Saturdays they made a special effort to have what they all privately referred to as a 'family' dinner.

It was always quite a scene, and tonight was no different: Harry and Ginny were buzzing around the kitchen preparing food, Neville helped Hermione set the table, and Luna was seated on one of the few unused kitchen counters, distracting Harry from the cooking by reading the corny jokes printed on the packaging of some Muggle candy.

"What did one casket say to the other casket?"

Harry's face looked bright, like he'd swallowed the sun. Hermione beamed at the sight.

"What's that?" he asked, giving her a solemn look that was valiantly hiding his laughter.

She gave him a dazzling smile and read in her dreamy voice, "Is that you coffin?"

Harry held on to his stern expression for exactly one second and then let out a laugh that landed somewhere between a cackle and a groan. "Who even writes these jokes," he asked rhetorically, still chuckling as he turned back to the stove. He used his wand to stir the bubbling substance in the pan, which smelled very strongly of garlic.

Luna sighed. "It's probable that Wrackspurts interrupted their thinking process," she stated sagely. The others, not wholly convinced as to the existence of the creatures the blonde girl spoke of, simply smiled.

"Actually," Hermione piped up, noting the way Harry suddenly seemed to hold his breath (and filing that away for a later date), "with those candies, I think children send the jokes in." Harry visibly relaxed and Hermione's eyes narrowed a bit. There wasn't much about Harry that she couldn't read on his face, after seven years of friendship and all that they'd been through. She put the mystery of his actions in the back of her mind, determined to find out what had caused her friend so much distress over a simple interjection.

She watched Harry closely over the night, as the food filled the table and their plates and they all ate heartily, taking one another in. She laughed when Ginny began flicking peas at the boys, grinning like a cat. She laughed harder when, as one, the boys charmed their own peas to pelt the redhead's face in a blitz attack.

It was easy to forget her troubles there, surrounded by people that she loved, in a place that was beginning to feel a lot like home. She watched her best friend, the so-called Boy Who Lived, and he caught her gaze after a moment and smiled a brilliant, hopeful smile and of course, she smiled back.

Her sentimental thoughts were interrupted by Luna, who had slid in on the bench next to her while the other three had a mock-battle with their food. The Ravenclaw rested her arms on the table and turned her head, looking intently at Hermione. Grey eyes bore into brown and Hermione stuttered out, "H-hello, Luna."

She replied with a sleepy, cat-like smile and looked away, seemingly content. Hermione found herself smiling a bit in turn. Luna was just so..._Luna_ sometimes. At one time it had annoyed her to no end, and she had been determined to dissuade Luna of her interest in creatures that clearly did not exist, but now. Now.

She was no longer the girl that had to be right all the time. Not anymore. Not with what they experienced.

Not after all that they had lost.

No, she knew now that Luna simply saw the world a different way, and she respected that. She loved that Luna could see all the beauty that she herself found it hard to see.

With her dying breath, she would fight so that Luna (her mind flew back to a different time and a painting, the word _friends_ surrounding faces like a million fireflies) would never have to lose that ability.

They sat in companionable silence, watching as the boys indisputably won what they were now calling the 'Battle of Snowy Pea' (Ginny had snickered loudest at that) and as they had to clean up the wreck that they'd created. Harry sighed and began to clean the mess the Muggle way, dishrag in hand, until he noticed the other two staring at him with identical looks of incredulity on their faces.

"Uh, mate?" Neville asked, the beginnings of a laugh already forming on his face. "You know you've got a wand, right?"

Harry looked down at the rag and then blushed to the roots of his hair. The others were chuckling.

"Uh, right," he said, stammering a little. He returned the rag to the sink, mumbling a bit about 'not all of us grew up this way you know', but his protests were drowned by their uproarious laughter.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry groused, "laugh it up." He jabbed his wand at the scattered food which, instead of disappearing as he had obviously intended, hovered for a moment and then flip-flopped onto his shoes.

Their laughter doubled.

a/n. To everyone who is reading this, to everyone who reviews: thank you all so much.

on the next episode of arrested development...


	3. In Between the Days and Nights

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 3: In Between the Days and Nights

* * *

She got an early start the next day. Up at dawn. Shower, shave, dress. Breakfast; she does it all on automatic, using her considerable mental facilities instead to thinking about the day to come.

She shouldn't be nervous, not really. Harry's lovely words bounce around in her head, butting up against her fears like a physical presence. She sighed.

But.

A voice pulled her from her contemplation and she started, splashing a bit of tea on the table top. She turned to find Neville, ears a bit pink, shuffling his feet. She smiled and waved him over, siphoning up the spilled liquid with her wand. He joined her at the table.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked courteously, and she replied in kind.

"Alright I suppose. I'm a bit nervous about the day though," she answered, facing him. "Yourself?"

He grinned. "Well enough." There was a pause and then, "What's happening today?"

"I have an interview set up," she replied. Neville brightened.

"I do too!" he said proudly, his face filled with excitement. Hermione beamed.

"That's brilliant, Nev! Where are you applying?"

"Well," he said, "I kept applying at jobs I wasn't really interested in, and I kept getting hung up in the interviews, 'cause they can tell that you're not interested in sorting potions ingredients or changing bandages or whatnot."

She nodded with the solemnity that she knew the moment called for.

He continued. "So I wrote Professor Sprout - she always liked me, you know, and plants are really interesting, and anyway, she told me she'd like to take on an apprentice, and she thinks I'd be perfect!"

Hermione flushed with pride for her long-time friend. "That's great, Neville. You'll be brilliant!"

He smiled broadly and a light blush painted itself across his cheeks. "Thanks, 'Mione," he said, giving her a one-armed hug which she returned happily. Silence filled the room for a moment, both young adults feeling a sense of comfort folding itself around them like a blanket.

Neville spoke up again after pouring himself a cup of tea. "So," he began, "tell me about this interview."

He leveled a stern gaze at her and she had the bizarre urge to giggle.

The thought that he'll probably be a wonderful father one day made her bite back a smile.

She called her mind back to the present and wrapped her hands around her cup, if only to give them something to do. Finally she called forth her famous Gryffindor courage.

"I couldn't really find anything either," she said, running her index finger along the rim of her cup. "So," she sighed, "I decided to find something outside of the Wizarding world."

He cocked his head to the side, prompting her without words to continue.

"I...well," sometimes she wished that you could project your thoughts to people you loved because then she wouldn't be stuck explaining, always explaining, "my parents wanted me to get a proper education along with going to Hogwarts, so I always kept up with my muggle school studies as well. Last year, before everything got crazy, I sat for my A-level exams. Full marks," she said quietly, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Last week, I spoke to a teacher I had in primary school. She always liked me, and I told her I was thinking about teaching, so she told me what qualifications I needed. Today I'm going down to the teacher's college to apply for their teaching program." She said this last bit in one quick breath.

Neville smiled like she had just announced that her head was a turnip. His look turned quizzical.

"Why didn't you owl over to Hogwarts? You know McGonagall loves you, and I hear she's thinking of stepping back from her post on the teaching staff now that she's Headmistress. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to have you on the staff."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't be there every day like that," she said sadly. "Too much has happened."

He nodded silently, although he looked like he wanted to push the subject. Standing, he threw back the remains of his tea and stretched.

"Good luck today, Hermione. You'll be a fantastic teacher," he said, almost shyly, and then waved as he disappeared from the kitchen. She called a farewell after him and then sat once more in the silence.

She poured herself another cup of tea.

ooOoo

Her fears were unfounded; the academic counselor at the school had taken one look at her credentials and told her that of course, they had a place for her, that she could start as early as tomorrow, that they needed more teachers as well educated as she was. A grin had etched itself permanently into her features as the advisor had told her about the school's summer program and that, with the right scheduling, she could probably . The woman, a pretty, frazzled blonde in her late thirties, handed her a brochure with a smiling man on the cover and a thick packet of what looked to be course syllabi.

The summer course at the school in fact began the next day, with classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. At the end of the summer she would be given a school placement where she would be a supervised teaching assistant during the day and continue her course work in the evenings. Hermione was thrilled, both by the prospect of schoolwork and the idea that in just a few short months, she would have the opportunity to practice teaching in a real classroom.

She left the college, papers in hand, feeling far sunnier about life than she had in weeks (and if she was being honest, months, years even.)

Life was a funny thing.

She apparated back home with a crack and pushed open the door, the sight of Number 12 warming her like it always did nowadays.

Like a cup of hot cocoa after an epic Hogwarts snowball fight.

(Like all of the times she could never have back.)

Except now the memories weren't tinged with that drowsy, foggy haze; the pain was not gone but it was dull and small and she could focus, focus on the love and happiness that she had felt during those times with Harry and Ron and all of the others. She saw their faces, untouched by time, and she smiled.

She smiled all the way into the kitchen, her feet leading her there by instinct as though they knew, somehow, that Harry and Neville were behind that door.

For a moment they all just beamed at each other and Hermione thought that anyone that saw them would definitely think they were mad, absolutely stark raving mad, grinning at each other like idiots.

She knew what they would never know, that for these friends, a look would always be enough.

ooOoo

June faded into July, then July into August, and before they knew it, fall was approaching. Hermione passed her classes with flying colors and had been offered student teaching placement at London school, with one Mrs. Emily Bennett, a tenured English Literature instructor. The school was near Kings Cross, and she was glad to have a familiar landmark to guide her, even if it did mean a commute.

The end of August meant the beginning of September, which is why on the first of the month the five roommates were huddled together on the London Underground, making their way to Kings Cross station.

They poured into the crowded train station, silent but for the pattering noise of their feet. One by one they leaned casually against the wall of the platform and fell through, coming out to the familiar sight of steam pouring from a huge train engine. Platform 9 3/4 looked the same as it always had, with one exception.

Though the train was due to depart in less than fifteen minutes, the open platform was clear of all but a handful of families saying goodbye, and mostly to younger children. Some older kids milled about on their own or in groups, and there were a few faces peering out at them from the windows. Harry looked around in dismay.

It was slightly heart-shattering to realize that while they had been holed up in their cozy paradise, the Wizarding world might not have been rebuilding itself as they had assumed. They had been kept abreast of the efforts to repair the walls of Hogwarts, courtesy of having developed good relationships with one Professor McGonagall, and they knew all too well how their own families were dealing with the painful aftermath of the war, but the absence of so many faces stopped them short.

Not for the first time, Hermione was thankful that she had not agreed to finish her last year at Hogwarts, as had been offered her and the others. She had declined initially because Harry had, and Ron was in no shape to go to school. It had felt wrong to return to the school without the others. Looking at the pitiful scene before her, she was almost glad that she wouldn't have to live in the ghost town of a school for a full year. She attempted a half-hearted smile for the benefit of Luna and Ginny, both of whom were already nervous about returning to the castle.

"Okay girls," she said, her voice pitched a bit too high, "study hard for your NEWT's and don't cause trouble, okay? We'll owl as often as we can and Harry and I will come and visit on Hogsmeade weekends, so we can all have Saturday dinners, yeah? Neville too, if he doesn't mind coming to the castle on his days off," she punctuated this with a sincere smile in his direction. Ginny was already rolling her eyes.

"Yes, mum," she said dutifully, and Hermione laughed before crushing the redhead in a giant hug. She kissed her cheek, smirking when Ginny swiped at it like a young child. The youngest Weasley stuck out her tongue at Hermione and moved to hug the boys farewell, knocking their heads together a bit too purposefully.

Hermione was chuckling as she swept Luna into her arms. "Be safe, okay?"

Luna, predictably, ensured her that she was keeping an eye out for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and not to worry. She then, quite unpredictably, gave each of the boys a kiss on the cheek before following Ginny into a train car.

Neville and Harry were both rooted to the spot; Neville's face was bright purple, the way that it colored when his grandmother pinched his cheeks. Harry's reaction was different. He had a hand on the cheek that the kiss what pressed into, an indescribable look on his face. Hermione struggled to come up with a name for the emotion. When it came to her, her jaw dropped.

The look on his face was identical to one he'd worn before, only it wasn't him wearing his face at the time.

It was Fleur.

Her mind bounded back to a time not so long ago (it may as well have been centuries with how much had changed for them all since then) when Fleur looked at Bill with a face full of slavish devotion in Harry's childhood kitchen.

The tumblers clicked into place as her head as she recalled each and every moment of contact that Harry and Luna had engaged in, beginning with his look of fear at her answer to a simple question.

Oh.

She wouldn't have expected it, but really, it made a sort of sense. Harry had always been drawn to Luna, protective of her, and now that she thought of it, his smiles were usually brightest when she was around.

Hermione beamed, a wide, sloppy grin that was aimed directly at Harry.

"Oh, Harry," she said simply, watching his lovesick puppy eyes follow the train down the track and out of sight.

He turned to her, instantly adopting a look of guarded confusion. She chuckled and the facade fell to reveal the boy underneath.

The Boy Who Had A Really Serious Crush On One of His School-Age Roommates.

She giggled.

"Shut up," Harry said flippantly, rolling his eyes, and held his head high as they exited the train station, a still-laughing Hermione and a very confused Neville Longbottom in tow.

ooOoo

The Wednesday of that very week was her first day at the school. The Headteacher, a woman named Ms. Johanna Wilkins whom Hermione had yet to meet, had noted that she was to appear the Wednesday before the start of term for her orientation and to please arrive promptly at eight.

Hermione strolled briskly through the door at 7:32.

She found the office easily enough and knocked once upon the open door. A woman in her late thirties with honey-blonde hair looked up from the form she'd been drafting and smiled graciously. She stood and extended her hand which Hermione shook firmly.

"You must be the new assistant in the English department," she said, gesturing for the younger woman to have a seat. "I must say, I was impressed with your marks. You certainly are well-versed on the subject matter."

Hermione smiled privately. "I love to learn," she said honestly, and the other woman nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I can certainly see that." She gave Hermione a level stare, as if she were sizing her up. "Tell me, why do you want to become a teacher? You could be doing research, learning new things every day. What led you here?"

Hermione swallowed. This question, she had expected. Her face was open as she replied, "I think that I will be learning things. More than that, though, I think it's important," she thought of Harry and smiled, "to make sure that the younger generation has someone to teach them not only how to learn, but to love learning." She inhaled deeply after that, feeling warm, like she had accomplished something. The Headteacher certainly seemed to think so. She beamed widely.

"Excellent answer," and Hermione knew that she had passed the silent test, because her next words were, "Call me Jo."

She found herself nodding. "Hermione," she replied, and that settled the matter.

Ms. Wilkins showed her around the campus quickly before leading her to the room that belonged to Mrs. Bennett. She trailed her fingers along the wood of the desk as the older woman spoke about the history of the school, tuning her out a bit (she'd researched the school the moment she had received her placement, and as always, had been very thorough). The classroom was quite large, not quite what she'd expected, but wonderful all the same. It seemed that Mrs. Bennett was a spartan woman. The walls were bare and, with the exception of the round tables for student use and the teaching implements at the front of the room, there was a distinct lack of ornamentation. She only wished that she could use magic to decorate. She sighed quietly and gazed around the room, imagining the changes that she could make with a twirl of her wand.

Through the haze of her thoughts, she heard a solid knock on the door and Jo's reply calling the visitor in.

She was jolted from her pondering when the visitor spoke in a voice that she would know anywhere.

It was a voice she had last heard escape a dying man.

Her body tensed and she pivoted on the spot to stare into the face of one Severus Snape.

* * *

a/n. I did some pretty hefty editing to this chapter and I'm hoping it's better and a bit more grounded in reality. A huge thank you to everyone who gave me tips about the British school system, it was really helpful. Thanks also to those who took the time to provide me with scathing reviews of the American education system. I'll make sure to let my mom know that you're not a fan of her methods.

My scene cards for this chapter look like they were written by a drunk racoon (because I changed absolutely everything in the edit, and also because I was drunk when I wrote them.)

Readers, you are too good to me. To everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, or otherwise read/acknowledged this story: you're amazeballs.


	4. Tabula Rasa

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 4: Tabula Rasa

* * *

She was staring, she knew. Black eyes trained on her own and in that moment, time stood still.

Her mind, however, was racing.

Could it really be Professor Snape? The man standing before her looked quite different than the man she had known. His hair was as long as ever, and it seemed the months outside of a dingy potions classroom had treated it well, leaving it less lank and greasy looking. It was pulled back into - Merlin, was that a pony tail? He had also taken to muggle clothing quite well and, she was amused to note, seemed to have retained his illustrious love of buttons.

She broke the silence very suddenly with a timid 'oh' of surprise.

Things happened very quickly after that.

Professor Snape (should she call him Severus now? It seemed too odd to fathom) nodded very firmly in the direction of the Headteacher and stalked towards Hermione, grabbing her arm with a bit more force than she thought the situation called for. She made a noise of protest, which he patently ignored.

"Ms. Wilkins," he said in his velvet smooth voice, "please allow me to borrow Miss Granger for a moment." He paused poignantly. "We are...old...acquaintances."

His voice was smooth like syrup but Hermione could readily detect an undercurrent of barely-concealed venom.

With a scathing look in her direction (making her feel like a first year again; she bit back a groan) he pulled her from the room and back down the hall, finally opening a broom cupboard forcefully and cramming them both inside.

Her insides turned to ice at the fury in his eyes and she gulped, trying her hardest not to notice the fine tremor running through his left arm.

"Miss Granger," he drawled lazily, visibly enjoying her current discomfort. "Seeing you here...how very unexpected."

She stared at him, mouth gaping open like a fish. At long last she found her voice.

"Not so unexpected, I might think," she hedged, and his eyes glinted dangerously.

He had the crook of his arm pressed against her windpipe before Hermione had the chance to acknowledge the movement.

Choking helplessly, she gazed into his eyes, realizing her mistake only as she felt the first quiet brush against her mind.

ooOoo

Hermione struggled against her former professor's much stronger frame to no avail. He rifled through her mind with a sort of elegant disinterest, examining some memories closely while throwing others to the side.

The sensation was not unpleasant; it was like a light tickling in the region of her frontal lobe that sort of made her want to sneeze.

He seemed to have found what he was looking for after he reviewed a great deal of her summer memories, including her schoolwork, several instances of her crying and (to her great embarrassment) Ginny beating her silly with a pillow while she'd laughed on the bed, both girls in nothing but their underpants.

After a while the man withdrew from her mind, breaking his hold on her neck in the same moment. Her eyes, which had closed during the strange blitz attack, flew open to meet his unfathomable gaze.

He considered her for a short moment, then turned from the cupboard, leaving her breathless and more than a little bewildered.

Hermione joined a very concerned Ms. Wilkins back in the classroom, explaining that Mr. Snape had been her tutor several years ago and had wanted to congratulate her privately on her new position (she snorted inwardly at that) and that she was glad to see a familiar face (which she was, undoubtedly, although there was a bruise forming on her throat that might suggest otherwise.)

The older woman seemed to accept this without any qualms and they moved along, finishing the tour with no further incidents.

Hermione found the whole episode quite disturbing, she reflected. She waved to Jo, promising to return at the same time the next day with a halfhearted smile.

She replayed her earlier interaction with Professor Snape in her head, pausing at the memory of his face before he'd turned away.

It was as if he was experiencing disbelief and...could it be regret? It was a look very similar to the one he'd worn that night in May, so recent and yet so long ago. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat that the memory brought and raised her hand to the offending area to massage away the sensation, wincing at the pain the action brought.

She set off down the street, making for the quiet alley that she'd found that very morning. It was out of the way and, she believed, would be perfect to use as an apparition point.

She cast a quick notice-me-not charm on the area and turned on the spot.

Her last thought before disapparating was a quick prayer that Harry wouldn't overreact.

(Though she knew without a doubt that he probably would.)

ooOoo

Number 12 smelled heavenly and she practically danced into the kitchen, hugging an unkempt Harry from behind and breathlessly laughing.

"What smells so good?"

Harry smirked. "Well, I did shower today, so, you know," he said teasingly, giving her a half-grin over his shoulder. She landed a loud slap on his arm.

"Shut up, Mr. Potter," she groaned, voice laced with a fake contempt, though a grin peeked through. "Seriously though. What are you cooking?"

He turned to face her, but the answer on the tip of his tongue seemed to fall short when he saw her. His eyes took her in, falling finally on her bare neck. His expression darkened.

"Hermione," he said, voice sharp. "Who did this?"

His fingers closed the gap and danced across the bruise that was blossoming on her pale flesh. She blushed and pulled away, pulling at her top in a futile effort to cover herself.

"It's nothing, Harry," she said truthfully, seating herself at the table. She still didn't condone Professor Snape's actions that afternoon, but she understood them and she knew that if he had wanted to truly hurt her that he could have, easily, probably without lifting a finger. After the war Harry had idolized Severus, speaking on his behalf and working to have him pardoned. Hermione wondered how he was going to react to the knowledge that the man was not only alive, but seemed to spend his time hovering about in a muggle school and pulling unsuspecting witches into closets.

A low chuckle escaped her at the thought. Harry seemed to mistake the noise as a sob and knelt before her, lifting her chin and examining the bruised area despite her weak protests.

"Hermione," he began carefully, though she could see the thunderstorm building in his bright green eyes, "did Ron do this?"

Her eyes widened almost comically. "What? No. Harry, no. I haven't seen Ron in months," she gasped, quiet shame filling her at the admission. "Besides, he's never been violent. Irrational, yes, but..." she trailed off at Harry's grimace. Her eyes sharpened. "Harry, what's going on?"

Slowly, Harry shrugged, dropping his chin slightly. "Molly owled me about it last week. She says he's been acting out, going into rages and destroying things. He throws stuff at them when they walk into the room. They had to take his wand away because he tried to curse Arthur one night when he brought him dinner. Afterwards apparently he gets really quiet," he admitted, his eyes flashing with pain. Hermione squeezed his shoulder firmly, urging him to continue. He sighed. "She asked if we'd visit, and I want to, but it's like he's not Ron anymore." Hermione nodded empathetically.

"I know," she said simply, cupping his face and turning it towards her own. The look of defeat in his eyes broke her and she pulled him into a crushing hug.

Both teens cried that night.

ooOoo

Eventually Harry had gotten the real story out of her. They talked for hours, late into the night, about Professor Snape and the whole ordeal. Hermione had confided to him that she believed the older man had acted out of fear, thinking that she had hunted him down for some purpose. She truly did not believe that he had meant to hurt her.

She could see his side of things. He had disappeared, she remembered, without a word to anyone. He was presumed dead in the wizarding world, particularly since his Order of Merlin, first class had gone unclaimed. Many had considered it quite odd; after all, if he were deceased, wouldn't his portrait had appeared at Hogwarts?

(Neville was most vocal among those who were of the opinion that the castle may not have considered him a real headmaster, having lived under the reign of terror that was that final year of Hogwarts.)

(Harry always glared at the sentiment, but there was no real heart in his vitriol.)

Hermione returned to work the next day as she had promised, a ball of anxiety forming deep in her gut. She shouldn't have worried: her day was spent helping the heretofore elusive Mrs. Bennett dust the classroom and revise the class syllabus, with Severus (as she had privately decided to call him) nowhere to be found. She had no qualms with this: Emily Bennett was a sweet woman with an easy demeanor. She seemed to take a liking to Hermione quickly, and they had formed an easy camaraderie over the course of that first day.

She made it through the morning and much of the afternoon without catching a glimpse of Severus Snape until shortly before 5 pm, when she closed the classroom for the evening (Emily had left early, with a nudge of her elbow and a muttered, "Summer isn't over quite yet, dear,") and turned to find him leaning casually against the wall she swore had been blank a mere few seconds before.

Hermione blinked, taking a moment to catch her breath because in the shock of their last meeting, it seemed her brain had failed to note just how nice he looked. His arms were crossed over his chest and suddenly her eyes were traveling of their own accord down the hard lines of his lithe form. He still dressed in black, but this simple shirt, trousers, and waistcoat ensemble was much less intimidating than his voluminous robes.

She met his eyes and was startled to see a smirk pasted on his face. She reddened slightly.

"Miss Granger," he intoned, nodding his head. She met his gaze with a grim determination.

"Severus," she said pleasantly, noting the scowl that twisted his mouth at her use of her given name. He didn't correct her, however, so she asked, "How have you been?" He grimaced.

"I wanted to apologize," he stated, voice gruff. Her eyes widened a bit. She'd not expected him to bring it up, honestly, and had certainly not expected an apology. He continued, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"I've been living with a great deal of...secrets, for a very long time. I overreacted," he said baldly, as if distancing himself from the admission. She suspected this must be very painful for him, having to apologize, especially to her. The thought that he'd done it anyway warmed her a bit, although she suspected that if he knew she'd so much as thought so he'd rip the still beating heart from her chest. Still, she smiled.

"I forgive you," she said simply, and he nodded pertly before strolling away as if the conversation had never happened.

As he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, she couldn't help but chance a peek at his bum.

Merlin.

* * *

a/n. As always, many thanks.

I am a leaf on the wind.


	5. Waiting to Exhale

On The Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 5: Waiting to Exhale

* * *

On Sunday, Harry and Hermione decided to bite the metaphorical bullet and visit Ron. They apparated to the Burrow, hands clutched between them for support rather than necessity.

Harry's knock on the door sounded ominous to Hermione's ears. Mentally, she steeled herself for whatever was waiting behind it.

Molly answered, a towel in her hands. She greeted them both with quiet hugs and ushered them inside, offering them tea. They declined politely.

"Is Ron at home?" Hermione sighed inwardly. They all knew that he was.

Mrs. Weasley smiled tightly, her eyes troubled. "He's in his room," she said, and made to stand. "I'll take you up," she said decisively, and though they both knew the way they nodded.

She led them through the house and up the stairs. It was much too quiet to be a Sunday afternoon in the Weasley house. Hermione wondered if the rest of the family had hidden away or if they were simply avoiding the house like Ginny had for so many months.

Poor Molly.

The woman in question stopped them both before they reached Ron's door. She whispered, "I want to warn you. Ron hasn't been himself lately," she said, and her voice was so much more tired than they had ever heard. "His mood changes so fast, one minute he's quiet and the next..." she trailed off and the two teenagers nodded their understanding at all of the things she'd left unsaid. Without another word, she led them the rest of the way to Ron's childhood bedroom before taking her leave down the stairs.

With a look between them, Harry and Hermione decided to knock before entering Ron's room. The brunette gave the door three light raps with her knuckles and then they waited, listening intently.

After a long moment, both teens heard a muffled, but still audible voice yell, "What?"

Sharing a shrug with Harry, Hermione took a chance and cracked the door open. "Ron? It's us -Hermione and Harry, that is," she said nervously. She continued. "Can we come in?"

This time, several minutes passed before they heard the low voice just beyond the door mumble, "Whatever. Fine," and then drop off into silence.

Neither of the teens in the doorway were encouraged by this greeting but soldiered on, opening the door with matching smiles on their faces.

"Ron, hi," Hermione began, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans absently. "How are you?'

His form, to their eyes just a lump beneath some blankets in the bed, simply grunted.

Harry tried this time. "You, er - your room looks great," he said lamely, and Hermione would have laughed if the situation wasn't so awful.

It seemed to do the trick though, because Ron rolled over on the bed to face them. Hermione winced at the sight.

He was thin, much thinner than a man with his frame should be. There were dark circles underneath his eyes as if he hadn't slept in weeks and he was glaring at them with a hardness that had never been present in his eyes before, not even when he lost his temper. He spoke.

"What do you want," he asked, and she might have thought that he was angry but his voice was just tired, like he couldn't put forth the effort to fight right now.

Something in Hermione snapped and she felt tears push behind her eyes. She moved towards the bed, hand outstretched to comfort him and he struck out, pushing her away and glaring. The exhaustion that he had been displaying seemed to have left him in that one fell swoop. He practically snarled and his voice was so cold, colder than she'd ever heard.

"Don't touch me, whore."

Hermione was sure that her eyebrows must have been right up in her hairline. She replied faintly, "Excuse me, Ronald?"

Harry, on the other hand, was instantly on guard. "Bloody hell, Ron! What the fuck, mate?"

The redhead let out a laugh like a hyena. He looked half-mad, and Hermione cringed away from the sight.

His eyes leveled on her own. "You think I don't know," he snapped, voice dripping with rage. "You think I haven't heard that you're living with him," he pointed an accusatory finger at Harry, "sleeping with him, doing who knows what," he broke off, panting, pacing, his hands ripping through his hair. When he spoke next it was like his words were being forced from his mouth by some unnatural force. "You come here and look at my face and think that I won't know that you're a slut? That you never wanted me around, that it was all about him?" His face was redder than his hair and he cried out, kicking the frame of his bed.

Harry was growing more agitated with each of Ron's screams, yet clearly didn't want to yell at his friend in his fragile mental state. "Look, mate," he began, holding his hands out peaceably, "there's never been anything more than friendship between Hermione and me-"

"LIES!" Ron bellowed, and the next thing they knew there was an errant schoolbook hurdling in their direction. Both ducked, then started edging towards the door, trying to make their escape.

It seemed that Mrs. Weasley had heard the commotion, because her feet were pounding on the stairs. In the space of a few seconds the door had flown open and Ron's mother had the boy in a petrificus totalus and was smoothing a calming draught down his throat. Hermione had the sad, fleeting thought that it was probably a practiced motion.

She and Harry waved goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, quietly leaving her to calm Ron in his troubled state. They clutched their hands together as they ventured past the wards and apparated home, but their thoughts remained in that old upper bedroom of the Burrow for days to come.

ooOoo

Hermione was only properly two days into her position as teaching assistant, but she'd fallen head over heels in love with the job. Mrs. Bennett was wonderful, imparting her love of books to her students with grace. The girls in her classes were lovely as well. They were all exceptionally bright and Hermione found herself looking forward to a time when they were deep enough in the course material to engage in discussion.

As the last class of the morning drew to a close, she ushered the giggling young ladies on their way to lunch and returned to the room. Mrs. Bennett waved her away almost immediately.

"When it's time for lunch, dear, you can just head along to the staff room once the students have gone. I mostly have lunch with my dear Herbert off campus, so there's no use waiting for me," the older woman said kindly, patting Hermione on the cheek before practically shoving her out the door.

In the past several days she had become quite familiar with the building, especially considering how often Mrs. Bennett had her run errands. However, she had yet to enter the staff room. It felt forbidden, somehow. It didn't matter that she was technically part of the staff; each time she even chanced a glance in the room's direction she felt like an errant schoolgirl who wanted to know what the teacher's lounge was like.

Merlin, did she want to know what it looked like.

She fisted the lip of the brown paper bag that Harry had packed her lunch in and held her head high. Taking a deep breath, Hermione grabbed the handle on the door marked STAFF ONLY and pulled, marching through the door before she could lose her nerve.

It was...rather disappointing.

Her chest deflated slightly and she gazed around, dismayed. It was a simple open room with a small kitchen area against one wall and several vending machines lining the other. The midst of the room was packed with several small, scuffed round tables and a plethora of plastic chairs. The back wall had an emergency exit door which had been propped open. Several teachers were clustered just outside, smoking muggle cigarettes and talking loudly. She sighed inwardly.

Taking in her surroundings more fully, Hermione spotted a familiar face at a table near the back corner of the room. Severus' figure was much less imposing folded into one of those plastic chairs, but his facial expression was as caustic as ever. It wasn't enough to deter her from speaking with him, however, so she approached the table with a smile. He nodded stiffly in her direction. She took the action as an invitation to join him.

"Hello Severus," she greeted.

He replied curtly. "Miss Granger." She rolled her eyes, opening her brown paper bag and plunging her arm inside.

"Can't you please call me Hermione?"

His mouth twisted into a grimace. "No," he ground out, though Hermione could see the corners of his lips twitching slightly. She smiled and held out a lump wrapped in plastic. He eyed it gingerly.

"It's a sandwich," she explained, taking a bite of the one clutched in her other hand. After the young witch swallowed she continued. "Turkey and a bit of Swiss, they're really quite good." She smiled at him beguilingly, her arm still swaying slightly in front of him, sandwich in hand.

His eyes were filled with suspicion but he took the food she offered, glaring at it mistrustfully as he unwrapped it. Hermione had to stifle a giggle as her former potions professor smelled, prodded, and finally nibbled on one of the sandwiches that Harry had made for her that very morning.

He looked genuinely surprised when he proclaimed, "This is very good." Hermione beamed.

"I'm glad you like it," she said sincerely, taking a bite of her own. "So Severus, tell me, how did you end up as a teacher here?"

To her surprise, he retained his casual demeanor as he contemplated his answer. She wondered if that meant that he'd decided she truly wasn't trying to murder him. He took a sip from a teacup she hadn't seen him produce, mulling over the question. Finally, he spoke.

"I had always wanted to teach, especially when I was younger. I couldn't enjoy it at Hogwarts," he admitted, his voice a bit hoarse, "so I wanted to try it somewhere else." He punctuated the sentence with a shrug. She considered him for one long moment. Her next question caught them both of guard.

"Do you enjoy it now?"

His face was open and honest and it struck Hermione that it was the first time she'd seen him that way, the first time he'd shown true venerability in her presence. His answer was calm, his lips hinting at a smile that didn't dare show itself.

"I think I do."

ooOoo

A week passed, then two. Hermione's night classes combined with busy days at the school were leaving her exhausted and, most nights, she was falling asleep at her desk, face pressed against the pages of a book.

For all her tiredness, she was still incredibly happy. Her life began to revolve around her work and her friendships, which she was glad to note seemed to include Severus, even if it was infrequently. The two had regular spirited conversations over lunch in the drab staff lounge.

It was an unseasonably warm Tuesday afternoon. Classes had just let out for the day and Hermione was regretting her choice to wear a sweater as she maneuvered down the hallway in search of room 122. It was the first time she was going to visit Severus' classroom and she was unreasonably anxious, despite their newly found amiability.

She knocked at the door and hovered in the frame, awaiting his greeting with baited breath. He turned and...oh, Merlin, he was smiling at her. Though she'd imagined what it would look like several times over the past few weeks, his smile was so unlike anything she could have ever anticipated. She returned it, unable to stop the soft blush that crossed her cheeks.

"Severus," she said, a warm fire in the pit of her stomach. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee with me." She gulped.

Where had that come from? She'd only come to offer him her copy of Gulliver's Travels; they'd discussed it at lunch the day before, and he'd expressed an interest in reading the novel. He had been slowly revealing these tiny pieces of himself to her and she cherished them, like sacred gems.

She wanted to see him smile at her again.

Hermione was contemplating their strange, budding friendship with such ferocity that she almost missed his response.

"Okay."

She started. "Really?"

He looked incredibly amused. "Yes, really," he replied, and she might have thought that he was irritated but, she had learned, he truly only used that tone of voice when he was trying not to laugh. "Please, Miss Granger, lead the way." His eyes glinted.

He draped his coat over his arm and made to follow her out the door. Suddenly she stopped short, and he paused quickly, just avoiding running flush into her. She turned, swallowing hard. The two stood nose to nose for a beat.

Hermione cleared her throat. "One thing," she said, and he cocked a single eyebrow skyward in an obvious 'do continue' motion. "Call me Hermione," she requested, her eyes imploring.

One corner of his mouth lifted. He sighed dramatically. "I suppose...Hermione."

She beamed all the way to the cafe.

* * *

a/n. I went back and made some changes. Thank you all for your feedback!


	6. The Bolder Thing To Do

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 6: The Bolder Thing To Do

* * *

Hermione and Severus made light conversation as they walked to the cafe at the corner. It was a nice place, not heavily trafficked, but with a certain cozy charm. Severus looked on with evident amusement when she held the door open for them both, but wisely didn't comment.

They placed their order with the bored-looking teen at the counter (tea for both; Hermione's with milk and sugar, Severus' with just milk) and took seats at a small table near the back. She grinned at him broadly.

"Before I forget," she began, slipping a hardcover novel from the depths of her purse, "I brought this for you. It sounded like you wanted to read it last week..." she trailed off, pushing the book across the table. He took it in his delicate hands, turning it over to study the jacket.

"Thank you," he said, his voice raw, as if he were unused to the words. She smiled fondly.

"You're welcome, Severus," she said kindly, and their eyes locked briefly. The stare was broken by the waiter dropping off their drinks, and they busied themselves with their cups for the next few minutes.

"So," Hermione began, dropping off uncertainly into awkward silence. Their conversations up until this point had been easy and full, but this felt different somehow, like they were clinging to the precipice of something bigger and neither of them were sure how to proceed.

It was Severus who broke through the strange wall and into actual conversation. "I've been meaning to ask," he said, hands circling his teacup. "I'm curious as to why you're here, playing the role of teacher's aide in a muggle school." He took a sip, then continued, "I had assumed you'd be working at, and possibly running, the Ministry in, say, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, writing into law some tedious legislation on House-elf reform." His dark eyes harbored no callousness, just general curiosity. Hermione contemplated her reply.

The truth of the matter was that Hermione had tried to do just that and when she'd been rejected, she'd felt devastated. She'd wanted to be in the position to make a change her world, the magical world, since her earliest days at Hogwarts. It vexed her to know that even after everything that had happened in the War, after all that she had worked for, people in her world still thought of her as an outsider. She'd never been quite so disappointed.

She didn't want to tell him that, though. Instead the happiness that she'd felt filling her since the beginning of their tentative friendship surfaced, and she smiled.

"I didn't really choose it. In my school days I had so many instructors who made an incredible impact on my life," she responded finally, eyes trained on his. "There was no other option."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and she nodded that, yes, she was implying what he thought she was.

His smile was small, but it seemed to light the entire room with its brilliance.

The two talked for hours in that coffee shop, so long that Hermione was dangerously close to being late for her evening class.

(Somewhere in the conversation she lost her grip and was falling, falling.)

ooOoo

On Thursday, to Hermione's utter delight, she found Severus waiting for her at the entrance to the classroom after the last bell. She smiled as they exchanged greetings before she turned to lock the door in her wake.

He stated the purpose of his visit while her back was still turned. "I'd like to request your presence at the cafe this evening, Hermione," he stated blandly. Her face brightened and she fell in beside him.

"That would be lovely, Severus," she exclaimed, already moving in the direction of the aforementioned coffee shop. He matched her steps easily, leaning in to make quiet conversation.

"I finished reading that book," he offered, holding open the entrance to the school so the two could continue down the stone steps and into the street. Once they were on level ground again Hermione, impatient with his lack of further commentary, began to question him.

"So? What did you think? I'd be particularly interested in hearing your thoughts on the parts regarding the nature of humanity. A lot of people think of it as a children's book because of the first section, but behind the metaphors there's quite a bit of really interesting moral philosophy. Certainly it also has legitimate views on politics as we - what?" She paused, having noticed that Severus was staring at her with growing concern. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"My apologies. I was simply wondering if you were going to need to take a breath," he said coolly, a hint of a smirk playing across his lips. Hermione giggled despite herself.

"Actually, the government removed my need to breathe when I was a child," she told him sardonically. He snorted.

"I suppose they also replaced your bones with adamantium?" Hermione raised her eyebrows delicately in response.

"You're honestly trying to tell me that the Great and Terrifying Severus Snape reads muggle comic books?" Her voice dripped with pure disbelief, and this time he outright laughed.

"Says the eighteen year old girl to the man who was actually alive when those comics were first being published," he intoned derisively. "Besides, you forget, I was raised with one foot in that world."

She nodded her understanding and they fell silent, having almost reached the cafe. As Severus pulled open the door, Hermione stopped abruptly. "I'm twenty," she said, in a voice that attempted to be offhand but failed rather miserably. He had that look on his face again, the one that she couldn't quite decipher, and she swallowed before continuing. "I was always older than the students in my year, because I had a late birthday, and then I used that time turner in third year," she breathed deeply, eyeing his face for a reaction that wasn't forthcoming. Lamely, she finished her thought. "So, I'm not eighteen. I'm twenty."

After a moment he jerked his head in a motion so small that it may not have occurred at all. His voice, though, she couldn't mistake.

"Very well," he stated, and then moved his head in the direction of the open cafe door. "Shall we?"

She followed him into the dimly lit room and towards the counter, finding it hard to hear the barista over the pounding of her heart.

Once they'd seated themselves and cast a quiet muffliato (topics of conversation during their last meeting had turned quickly to that of the magical variety, and both had agreed that some precautions were necessary), talk easily returned to the novel that Hermione had lent Severus. He returned it to her with another word of thanks. It sounded easier this time around.

"I found it rather fascinating," he said earnestly, and then smirked. "Although, probably not for the reasons that you'd think."

She smiled. "I'd like to hear those thoughts all the same," she countered, and he launched easily into full on lecture mode, barely pausing to acknowledge the waitress when she delivered their tea. She watched him in fascination, listening as much to his words as to his body language. It was riveting.

"...so you see, Jonathan Swift may have actually been a wizard! Muggles didn't even discover the moons of Mars until the late 1800's. This book was published in the early 18th century and yet makes detailed mention of these moons. There are few other explanations, each more unlikely than the last. The man must be a wizard." Having said his piece, the man took a sip of his cooling tea, waiting for a response.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know of many wizards who went on to become clergymen."

Severus shrugged and countered, "You might be surprised. There are wizards who become muggle politicians, muggle pop stars...even muggle school teachers." He delivered the comeback with a pointed look. She smirked.

"I suppose you have a point there."

He smiled at her and took another drink of his now lukewarm tea. "I suppose I do."

ooOoo

It came to be a tradition for the two. Every Tuesday and Thursday Severus would meet Hermione just outside the English classroom and they would walk the short distance to the little corner coffee shop. Their conversations ranged from the magical to the mundane, and both came to cherish the time that they spent together like it had been woven from gold.

Often they would chat until Hermione's classes in the evenings, which usually left her moving at a sprint to reach her apparition point. She was never late but sometimes cut it a bit closer than she would have really liked.

She was hardly about to complain, however.

The only downside to her new, busier schedule was that it hardly left her with any time at home. After only a week, she felt as though she'd fully neglected her older friendships in favor of cultivating this new one (albeit one that was becoming increasingly important to her) which is why on Friday evening, she entered Grimmauld place with a plan.

She found Neville relaxing in the kitchen, mysteriously without Harry in tow. He beamed upon seeing her face.

"Hey 'Mione! How's school?" His question came around mouthfuls of what appeared to be raw cookie dough. Hermione chuckled, taking a seat across the table.

"School is going really well, Nev. How's Hogwarts?"

Neville kindly waited until he swallowed to reply. "It's brilliant," he said thickly, taking a drink from a glass of milk. "Professor Sprout is already planning to retire at the end of the year, and she's talking about them offering me her job!"

Hermione grinned. "That's fantastic! Who's going to take over as Hufflepuff's Head of House, though?"

Neville shrugged. "None of the Hufflepuffs came back, so I dunno. D' you remember Oliver Wood though?"

"Yes, I remember him," she replied curiously. "Did he come back to teach?"

Neville's smile was a mile wide. "Yep," he exclaimed, nodding wildly. "He's assisting Professor Hooch this year. From what I hear he's pretty much a shoe-in for the position, and she really wants to leave," he finished with a quick breath.

"Wasn't he on a professional quidditch team?"

"He was on the reserve team for Puddlemere United, he told me," Harry said, waltzing into the room with several thick books clutched in his arms. Both Hermione and Neville greeted him loudly.

Hermione was unable to contain her curiosity. "What are you doing with all of those books?"

Harry grinned. "Didn't I mention," he joked, placing the heavy paperbacks on the table, "that I've learned to read?"

Hermione decided to play along. "Oh Harry," she exclaimed brightly, "now we won't have to sell the old farm!"

"We'll be rich!" He threw himself across her lap, fanning himself. "I don't know if I can take the stress."

At that, she snorted. "If it hasn't killed you by now, I think you're safe," she replied, giving him a gentle shove that sent him crashing to the floor. He gave her an exaggeratedly dirty look and, in a fit of juvenile delinquency, she stuck out her tongue.

When they were again all seated, Hermione introduced them to her idea. "I've gathered you all here today for a purpose," she began, a no-nonsense look on her face. Harry promptly ignored the warning.

"You haven't gathered us at all," he muttered, and she poured all of her irritation into the glare she sent his way. He cowered, but continued. "I'm just saying...we live here..."

Hermione decided to ignore him for the time being. "As I was saying," she started, "I have a plan. I know that there's not a Hogsmeade visit for another couple of weeks but," she paused for dramatic effect, "I think we need to kidnap Ginny and Luna," she stated finally. Her eyes sought out the reactions of her companions.

Neville grew pale. "Kidnap? I don't know..."

Harry, on the other hand, looked thrilled at the suggestion. "Yeah! We can pick them up from the castle and bring them here for an old fashioned Saturday dinner. They'll be back at the castle before curfew."

It seemed that Neville was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of kidnapping. Hermione decided to let them in on the other part of the plan to assuage his fears.

"I was going to floo Minerva tonight to get her permission." The relief on Neville's face was palpable. Harry's expression was even more wildly happy than before.

"Brilliant. She loves you, she'd let you tutor students at home around the clock if you asked," he stated. Hermione blushed.

"I very much doubt that," she intoned humbly. Neville shook his head..

"It's true," he said fiercely. "She talks about you all the time."

The concept had Hermione stumped. It was then that Neville took his leave.

"I have three years worth of papers to mark," he explained absently, waving to his roommates. "Let me know if we're on for tomorrow!"

Harry and Hermione lobbed confirmations his way before falling silent, each contemplating potential activities for their excursion the next day. It was Hermione who broke the silence.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" He never was the verbose sort. She continued anyway.

"Why are you reading muggle psychology texts?"

He started. "Oh! I actually came in here meaning to talk to you about that." He began pulling the books towards them, opening them to different pages where the text had been marked with muggle sticky notes. Their eyes met and she was shocked to see the level of seriousness he was displaying. He gestured vaguely to his work.

"I've been doing some research," he said firmly, " and...Hermione, I think I know what's wrong with Ron."

* * *

a/n. I'm glad that people are reading this. I genuinely hope that you're enjoying it! If you would be so kind as to let me know that you think? Comments, concerns, and criticisms are all appreciated.

A lot of people have expressed distaste at how long the relationship between Hermione and Severus is taking to develop. I apologize if I'm making you impatient, but I firmly believe that building a good solid romance takes time, especially where Severus is concerned. The man has some serious trust issues.

As always, please review!


	7. And I Through You

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 7: And I Through You

* * *

Harry and Hermione had moved from the kitchen to the library in a matter of minutes. They both shared a desk. Hermione had equipped herself with a pen and some loose leaf paper (she happened to be incredibly fond of magical writing methods, but they were so inconvenient most of the time) and Harry was pointing to sections of the book opened in front of them.

"I was thinking," he explained, "that Ron might be having some kind of a mental breakdown of some sort." He showed her the cover of the biggest book. "I don't know much about Healing, but I know that muggle doctors have psychiatrists who deal with problems in your head. So I picked up this diagnostic manual at a muggle bookstore and I started reading it-"

"Hold on," Hermione interjected, "you're telling me you read the entire DSM-IV?" Harry stared.

"I really just read the parts that might have something to do with Ron's condition. How did you know what it was called?" He appeared quite flabbergasted.

"My parents. They love science. My mum used to read from medical journals when she put me to bed, and thanks to them I have a pretty decent knowledge base for most things," she said simply, then smirked. "Also, you showed me the cover." Harry cast a glare her way, but it soon faded.

He nodded in the direction of the book. "Have you read this, then?"

"No," she said, smiling a bit. "I've thumbed the IDC, but the DSM isn't really the diagnostic standard used in Europe, so I never had a chance to get my hands on one." She took it from him almost reverently. "Do you mind if I..."

"Not at all," Harry replied immediately. "I should have known you would be familiar with all of this." His voice contained copious amounts of laughter.

"Quiet, you. Now, I assume you're thinking he's suffering from some kind of mood disorder?" Her fingers perused the index swiftly. Harry blinked.

"Well, yes. I actually thought that post-traumatic stress disorder might fit best," he admitted. She found the page rather quickly and scanned its contents, muttering under her breath.

"Some of this criteria meets Ron's situation really well," Hermione commented. "Has Molly mentioned him having nightmares?"

Harry frowned, considering. "No," he said finally, sighing heavily. "His outbursts seem to be limited to the present, from what I've heard." Hermione scratched her chin thoughtfully.

"We might need to look elsewhere," she informed him, skimming the text quickly. "Bipolar disorder could work, as could what they call borderline personality disorder. Er, Harry," she proceeded carefully here, "it's wonderful that you've put so much thought into Ron's condition. I'm just not sure how we're going to move forward with this." He made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

"I don't know, Hermione. We should probably take this to Molly and see what she thinks," he replied. "What to do after that will depend on her."

It wasn't a plan, not really. But it was a start.

ooOoo

After the brief conversation, Harry left with his research to visit the Burrow. Hermione hugged him firmly before seeing him off.

She entered the fireplace shortly after he'd disappeared, green powder in hand. Floo was her least favorite method of wizarding travel, she mused, tucking her elbows into her sides and swallowing thickly against the sour taste left by all the spinning. It was the easiest way into the castle, however, as it took one straight to the Headmistress' office; a far cry less painstaking than apparating outside the wards and walking the length of the grounds, and much more convenient.

Hermione thanked her lucky stars that Minerva had offered to keep the Floo connection up between her office and old Order headquarters when they'd decided to move in. It had been a gesture of compassion from the Headmistress to placate her favorite student's anxiety about living for the first time with only her contemporaries and no traditional adults. She was glad to finally make use of it. It had been far too long since she'd visited with dear Professor McGonagall.

She stepped lightly from the belly of the fireplace into an empty office. Her eyes scanned the room by way of habit and then called out, "Minerva? It's Hermione. Are you in?"

She heard a muffled 'thump' emanate from the direction that she knew Headmistress' rooms to be. A moment later Minerva McGonagall appeared, clad in a tartan bathrobe (complete with matching nightcap) and wand in hand. Her bewilderment was clear as she stared at the young witch. Hermione gulped.

"I'm terribly sorry Headmistress, I should have called before dropping by," she blathered, waving her hands about anxiously and moving instantly in reverse. Minerva replied with an undignified noise that seemed a cross between a snort and some sort of verbal eye-roll, giving Hermione pause.

She found herself being wrapped into a gentle hug by her favorite professor. The young witch returned the action gladly.

"My dear Hermione, you are always welcome here." The older woman's voice filled her with warmth and she allowed Minerva to veer her towards the chairs in front of the ornate wooden desk.

"It's wonderful to see you, Minerva," she began, beaming brightly at her mentor. "I came to ask a favor, to be completely honest."

The smile she received in response was fond. "How may I help you?"

Hermione cleared her throat and then jumped right in. "I was hoping that you'd agree to let Ginny and Luna spend the day with us at Grimmauld tomorrow," she announced, launching immediately into what her father had always called her 'full-throttle babbling'. "I know it's short notice and that they really aren't supposed to leave the castle during the term unless it's an emergency, but we've all really been missing them quite a bit and - what?"

Minerva's eyes had grown comically wide. "Merlin, child, do you breathe?"

Hermione chuckled. She replied offhandedly, "You sound just like Severus." The words fell from her lips before her brain caught up and when it did she froze, eyes locked on the Headmistress in horror.

Her newest friend had never explicitly forbidden her from telling anyone in the wizarding world about his continued existence. However, she had inferred from past experience that had she asked, his exact answer would have been, "Don't."

(Actually, his exact answer would most likely have been, "Do it and I'll have your head, you insufferable chit.")

She had only even informed Harry because he had hounded her incessantly, and, at that point, Hermione was still unsure as to what her reaction to the man should be. She was shocked that she'd been so careless as to let the secret slip.

(A part of her brain which she refused to acknowledge was arguing loudly that the mistake had been entirely Freudian in nature. It was a concept that she couldn't entirely disagree with.)

Minerva's eyebrows had all but disappeared under her tartan cap. Her thin mouth was set in a wide 'O' of surprise. "Severus?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper but in the silence of the room, it may as well have been a scream. Hermione flinched.

My, this was uncomfortable. For not the first time since she'd stepped into the office Hermione wished she'd decided to wait to see her friends until the first Hogsmeade visit. She shuffled a bit in her seat. "I've been seeing him," she blurted, slapping her hands over her mouth as she realized exactly how that could be interpreted. Professor McGonagall's face was beginning to look like an increasingly alarmed fish and the young witch stuttered, trying desperately to regain her footing.

"He and I, that is to say, we, not that we're a 'we' by any definition - I mean, yes, I spend a great deal of time with him, but that's not..." she trailed off, words failing her as she struggled to express the indefinable...thing...that had begun to develop between Severus and herself.

Minerva seemed to have found her voice, and valiantly stepped in to save the poor girl from spontaneously combusting.

"Say no more, Hermione. Severus has always been a private man. His affairs are his own, and I have no intention of prying into his many secrets. Fear not, my dear. I will keep your confidence." She gave the young woman a rather uncharacteristic wink before turning serious once more. "As for the issue of Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood, I see no issue in their venturing from the castle as long as they are returned to the castle before curfew," she declared, her face set in a businesslike expression. Hermione beamed, causing the Headmistress' intense demeanor to crack slightly.

"Thank you so much Minerva," she replied eagerly. "I guarantee their prompt return."

"I would expect nothing from my best student," the older woman remarked, and Hermione lit up with a blush so fierce that it would rival the famous Weasley hair. Her words of thanks tumbled from her lips before her brain could put them together, resulting in a stream of words that really made no sense. Minerva pursed her lips in a manner that few students knew meant she was holding back laughter. She stood to help the girl to her feet and then began to lead her to the fireplace.

"Now," the Headmistress stated, still attempting to look severe, "I must get some rest. I have a school full of hooligans to instruct and guide, and I can hardly do so half asleep." Hermione's face began to redden once more and she mumbled several hasty apologies, all of which were met with derision. Minerva hugged her firmly once again and whispered into her voluminous hair, "You are always welcome, Hermione." The girl in question nodded her understanding and, still a bit pink, took the Floo powder that the older woman was offering her. The professor instructed her to return the next day after lunch to collect the girls before she spun away into the Floo network.

Though she'd gotten the answer she was searching for that evening, she returned home with more questions than she'd left with.

ooOoo

The girls were beside themselves with excitement when she'd appeared in the Headmistress' office the next afternoon. Many hugs were exchanged between them and all three were giggling as they made their way through the fireplace and home to Number 12.

When they'd reached their destination, things quickly descended into madness. Harry and Neville had set off a couple of Filibuster's fireworks the moment they appeared in the hearth, and the small room had soon been filled with colorful blasts. Four of the young adults began rolling with delighted laughter as their fifth compatriot, one Luna Lovegood, immediately leaped about, chasing sparks as if they were fireflies.

Still chuckling, Hermione began to herd her friends out of the drawing room toward the kitchen. It was purely lovely, the feeling of completion that filled Grimmauld place like a physical presence, and it stayed into the evening as the group prepared and ate a monstrous meal that would have made Molly Weasley proud.

Afterwards, the mismatched family had cleared the table for a spirited game of Exploding Snap. One of Neville's eyebrows had swiftly been singed off, leaving him with an expression of constant surprise (to his friend's uproarious amusement.)

"You know," he mentioned, covering his forehead with one hand and further limiting his game-playing ability, "I heard somewhere that in Germany, they translate 'Exploding Snap' into 'Snape explodiert'." He shrugged, ducking away from a minor blast. "I thought it was funny."

Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes in unison. Ginny looked intrigued. "That cannot be true," the redhead exclaimed, her eyes insisting that she hoped it was.

Hermione snorted. "It's not," she said briskly, playing a successful hand. "The game is called 'Zauberschnippschnapp'; it's a play on the translation of the muggle game 'Snap'." Her concentration broke from the game as her turn passed and she lifted her head to find three sets of eyes glued to her face.

She studied them intently. Harry, as he often did when she made what he called 'creepy-smart' statements, looked impressed and a little wary of her. Ginny wore an expression of pure fascination, like she was studying a particularly good quidditch play. Neville was a bit more difficult to read. He appeared to be upset and rather irritated with her, given the hard edge his eyes had taken. Hermione swallowed loudly.

Harry broke the highly uncomfortable silence. "You know, after all of these years of friendship, you'd think I'd be used to you knowing everything," he mused, "but my amazement at the size of your giant brain has really never gone away." The brunette blushed and opened her mouth to protest, but her words were lost when the table before them erupted with a bang far beyond the game's normal range.

Simultaneously, the four Gryffindors swiveled their heads to stare at Luna, who appeared unfazed by the detonation, or the fact that most of the deck was currently in flames. She continued to shuffle her remaining cards blissfully before placing one on the smoldering pile.

"Um, Luna?" Ginny's face blanched.

The blonde raised her head at last, giving her companions a serene gaze. "Hmm?"

Neville took over the line of questioning. "Well...what was that?"

Hermione's lips were twitching hard against her desire not to chuckle. Luna was of incredible emotional intelligence, it was a fact that had become clear particularly over the months the group had lived together. She also tended to avoid conflict if at all possible. If the extra explosion hadn't been an attempt to avoid the fight the Ravenclaw clearly saw coming, Hermione would eat her copy of Hogwarts, A History.

Luna's protuberant gray eyes met her own and the bushy-haired girl was graced with a distant smile.

"It may have been a Blibbering Humdinger," she intoned, laying down another card almost aimlessly. "They've been known to cause trouble in groups of mixed gender."

It was a testament to how much they'd grown as friends that no smirks were passed around in response.

* * *

a/n. My deepest apologizes about the wait. The tidbit about exploding snap was something I read on the hp wiki once and then I shamelessly borrowed it because I thought it was funny.

* * *

Here is some highly irrelevant information that some of you may enjoy anyway. When I started writing this I toyed with the idea of interspersing portions of Severus' journal in between chapters. I decided against it because I didn't want to break up the story, but I kept drafting entries for each subsequent chapter and in the end, all of the chapter titles have been derived from some portion or idea contained within those bits of journal, including the title for Chapter 7, 'And I Through You'. The portion it was derived from reads, 'I am not sure how it has come to pass, but I have begun to view life through you, as if a looking glass or a crystal ball...'. So. There is my chapter title origin story.


	8. Your Heart Tells You, You Can Fly

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 8: Your Heart Tells You, You Can Fly

* * *

a/n. I think it's pretty clear in the text, but I just want to let everyone know that the second scene in this chapter is from Severus' perspective. That being said, enjoy!

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning with a nasty migraine doing a tap dance in her head. Blearily, she traipsed through the house and into the kitchen, making a beeline to the large wooden potions cabinet before remembering that, as she was the most (only) capable potioneer in the house, it was her job to keep the cabinet stocked. She was also reminded that she had been less than present recently and had not done her due diligence in that respect. Groaning, the young woman nearly bashed her head against the thing in the sheer hope that it would provide relief.

The idea reminded her strongly of Severus, who had recently taken to telling her to run headfirst into various things (walls, doors, traffic; once 'off that bridge') when he felt she was being particularly aggravating. That line of reasoning brought her, as with her every thought nowadays, back to Severus.

Severus.

Oh!

Hermione dashed madly back upstairs, very nearly trampling poor Neville as he made his way down the staircase, wiping sleep from his eyes. He flattened himself to the wall as she sped past, eyes wide with terror.

In her wake she heard his voice croak, "Merlin, Hermione! Warn a bloke!"

"Sorry Nev," she shouted as softly as possible in an attempt not to wake Harry. Bolting into her room, she moved swiftly to her desk and pulled out her pen and paper, scrawling a quick missive.

_Severus,_

_Sorry to bother you at this hour, but I woke up with a blinding migraine and we're out of headache remedy. Do you have any on hand? I would be eternally grateful if you do. If not, I suppose I shall perish._

_Enjoying life,_

_Hermione_

She studied the note for a moment. Shakespeare it was not, but she needed the draught desperately and through the blinding haze of pain in her skull she was unable to form another solution. It would have to do. She took off through the halls again, this time racing up to the next floor into the room which had previously housed Buckbeak. Harry had converted the room into a sort of odd habitat for their newest pet, a beautiful brown screech owl. Hermione peered around the room, hoping against hope that Harry or Neville didn't have the bird out delivering something.

The woman called out, "Cliodne?"

It seemed that luck was on her side. The gorgeous fowl swooped down and lighted upon her arm, nibbling her mistress on the ear affectionately. Hermione trailed her fingers down the owl's lovely plumage, murmuring words of greeting before holding the folded paper up questioningly. Cliodne hooted in response, holding her leg out for her owner to attach the note to.

Hermione murmured her appreciation and, with a last nip of her beak, the owl soared from the room. The brunette sent with it a pleading wish that Severus was feeling generous this morning as she embarked on the return journey to her bedroom.

His answer was prompt. Cliodne flew through the open window a mere fifteen minutes later, bearing a scroll and a small package. Hermione relieved her of it with swift fingers, offering the bird a couple of treats from the palm of her hand. These were snatched greedily, to the young woman's great amusement, and she eased open the roll of parchment that she'd received to read its contents.

_Hermione-_

_If you cannot manage your potions stock, perhaps you might consider asking for help? I believe that there is a particularly great Potions Master working in your building._

_I will take a lack of response as proof of your untimely demise and celebrate thusly._

_-S_

The Gryffindor began to chuckle at Severus' responding antics and quickly scrawled a word of thanks on the opposite side of the paper, stroking the owl's feathers gently to coax her into delivering yet another note. There was a replying screech and Cliodne took off, clawing Hermione's arm only slightly.

She retrieved the tonic from the package and downed it with a sigh of relief as the tension drained from her pounding skull. Hermione sunk back into the mattress, mind racing in one alarming direction.

Severus...

ooOoo

The final bell sounded on Monday with an almighty clanging noise, signaling the end of the school day. In the halls, the din grew to a feverish level, created by the voices and laughter of hundreds of teenage girls all clamoring for the entrance hall and thereby, freedom.

It was a scene that made Severus Snape feel ill.

What in his right mind had made him pursue another teaching job? It was no secret that he loathed children with all his being. He glared around at the little brats as he strode purposefully through the halls, smirking inwardly at the ones who scampered out of his way with looks of terror on their faces.

Still, he reflected, it had seemed like his only option at the time. He'd felt like a fish out of water, being back in the muggle world after so much time, and teaching was something he'd known he could do. Muggle chemistry was enough like potions (he scoffed inwardly; potioneering was an art form, the muggle sciences were child's play in comparison) and it had been easy enough to forge the necessary documents to secure a position.

Magic was a wonderful gift.

He arrived at his destination without realizing that his feet had directed him there. Severus hovered in the doorway of the English classroom, its single occupant oblivious to his presence. He studied her intently.

She had certainly grown up. Her body was curvy, complimented nicely by the skirt and jumper which hugged her frame. The trademark unruly chocolate-colored hair that he had so teased her for had not changed, but he'd come to find it charming and spirited, quite fitting to her personality. She was rearranging some books on the shelves across the room and, as she bent at the waist to shuffle a stack, he found himself taking stock of her very cute bottom for a long minute before he caught himself.

Severus coughed inelegantly in an effort to avoid choking on his own tongue, causing the object of his perusal to jump and drop several paperbacks. She spun around, taking a deep breath when she realized exactly who startled her so.

"Severus," she stated a bit breathily. The cadence of her voice was high and flighty, a sound which caused his stomach to clench in a way that was hardly unpleasant. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. She wore a beguiling smile. His heart stuttered.

"How is your head?" Merlin, what a foolhardy question. His palms were sweating and he frowned at the sensation, wiping them inconspicuously on his trousers.

It seemed his inquiry had been alright after all, for she beamed. "My head is alright, thanks to you," she responded brightly. Her smile turned devious. "I apologize if it interferes with your celebration."

He smirked at the comment. "I believe I shall live," he replied blandly, entering the room fully despite his misgivings about the uncharacteristic responses his body was having to her presence. Perhaps he was ill.

Hermione finished righting the books and took a moment to admire her handiwork before approaching him. His pulse quickened as she neared, so much so that he was certain she could hear his heart racing just beneath his breast. If she realized, she refrained from commenting, instead laying her hand on his arm. The grin she gave him stopped his traitorous heart altogether and he experienced something that he'd long thought buried, a swooping sensation that felt dangerously close to genuine affection.

From the expression of confusion she was wearing, he gathered that she'd asked him a question and he'd responded by staring at her like a madman. Severus shook himself mentally, trying to force himself not to focus on trying to decipher the exact shade of honey swirling in her eyes.

"My apologies, could you repeat that?" His voice sounded sincerely penitent. He wanted to slap himself.

Hermione chuckled sweetly, the mirth turning up the corners of her full mouth. Before he could resist the temptation his lips had followed, forming a smile all their own. She repeated her question without pause.

"I was asking if you wanted to go to the café?" He shook his head quickly, earning another look of bewilderment. His mouth was soon moving faster than his brain, forming words before he had a chance to stop them from escaping.

"We should go to that park up the road," he offered, mentally berating himself for making an alteration to the paradigm of their relationship. His heart was pounding faster than he could remember it doing in all his years; his mind was hissing that this was a terrible idea, but for once he ignored the whispering for the joy of seeing her face light up.

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione exclaimed, bouncing once on the toes of her feet. "Let me grab my coat."

Severus couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

ooOoo

Hermione was surprised by his suggestion to say the least, but the young woman was not about to let such an opportunity go to waste. She'd been thinking about Severus almost nonstop over the weekend, contemplating their relationship and how it had been developing.

She'd realized quickly that her feelings for the man were more than platonic. She'd become enamored with him, with his quick wit and fantastic personality. Now she was looking at him, really looking. He wasn't handsome in any sort of classical sense, but there was something attractive in his smile, in the way he carried himself, in his hands...she felt her stomach flip a little and she blushed at the turn her thoughts had taken.

She continued her contemplation as they made their way to the park that resided a little ways down the road. Both were silent, neither guessing that the other was thinking so intently about their companionship.

Hermione's anticipation was quashed by her doubts. She was so young, only just twenty, and wouldn't consider herself attractive in any sense. What if he didn't want her in the way she was beginning to desire him? He'd never made any secret of the fact that he'd disliked her at Hogwarts. Of course, since they'd met again he'd been nothing but extraordinary, with the exception of the incident on her first day. What if he was just being polite?

What if Severus rejected her?

Worse, what if he didn't? What would happen if they began a relationship and something horrible happened? He might enjoy her company now, but there was always the possibility that he would get to know her better and find her detestable, or he might fall in love with someone else and cheat on her, or.

Her head was spinning. She shivered involuntarily as another thought struck her: what about Ron?

Before the war, before the aftermath, before she'd truly begun her life, she had fancied the redhead quite a lot. Hermione had dreamed of marrying him, once upon a time. She'd thought herself in love with him.

Unbidden, her mind raced back to the day that she and Harry had visited.

_"Don't touch me, whore."_

It was unfair, she knew, to hold Ron accountable for the awful things that he'd said to her that day. His mind wasn't right. Still, his accusations had been cruel, and they danced through her head often.

Ron had changed since the way, but so had she. If she really thought about it, Hermione could see that even if her other best friend had retained his mind, they would no longer be compatible. In fact, she wondered if she might have been incredibly unhappy, married to the redhead.

This conclusion to her train of thought brought her back to the presence. She and her companion had reached the entrance to the park, and Severus was currently staring at her, his dark eyes like endless pools of ink. Hermione's cheeks colored with a light flush.

"Severus," she began, voice pitched higher with nerves. He raised a single eyebrow but let her continue. "I-," she paused, considering her words. In her peripheral Hermione noticed a stone bench, and she tilted her head towards it. "Can we sit?"

He nodded and together they took their seats. Hermione turned sideways to face the subject of her churning thoughts. Despite all of her misgivings, she was certain of one thing: she needed to be honest with Severus about the feelings she felt blossoming in her chest. If she didn't confront them now, history had shown her, everything would just become more confusing.

"Hermione?" His voice broke through the haze of her thoughts and she met his unfathomable eyes. It was time.

"I want to say something," she spoke up suddenly, keeping her eyes locked on his own despite the anxiety that was flooding her mind. She continued, "I've been thinking a lot, and, well," she trailed off, twisting her fingers nervously. Merlin, this was hard.

She decided to just be out with it.

"Severus, I think I'm developing feelings for you."

* * *

a/n. This chapter was delightful to write. As always, thank you all so much for reading, and please review!


	9. Shades of Gray

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 9: Shades of Gray

* * *

The silence that followed her announcement was palpable. Severus' dark eyes were boring into her own, keeping her gaze captive and her thoughts racing. Hermione's stomach churned. Was it possible that he hadn't heard?

Or...her mind filled with all sorts of possibilities, each a little worse than the last. What if he was preparing to laugh at her? He might scorn her, or simply walk away; from the situation as well as the friendship. Why would he stay? They'd only really been friendly for a couple of weeks, despite the strength of the feelings that were beginning to resonate within her.

What if he hated her?

He was still simply staring. Her eyes were locked on his own and she felt as though she were drowning.

Her mind began to race with a million different scenarios and then the world was moving in slow motion because he was leaning forward, forward, and suddenly his lips pressed against hers like the softest of questions.

Oh, her answer was yes. She responded to his ministrations eagerly, her arms snaking around his neck in an effort to leverage a better position. The kiss was brief but incredible, full of a yearning that left Hermione gasping.

Her eyes flew open wildly, seeking out her companion's face. Merlin, he was beautiful. How had she only now noticed? His long, heavenly lashes whispered across his cheeks like a sigh and his lips had relaxed into a sort of shy smile that she'd never seen before.

The words tumbled from her lips, unbidden yet not unfelt. "You're gorgeous," she breathed, and was rewarded with a rare prize: the sight of Severus Snape blushing.

He leaned toward her once more, this time to rest his forehead against her own. The following eye contact warmed Hermione's heart and, impulsively, she darted forward to press a kiss against his nose.

His eyes were ludicrously wide, her smile was bashful, and when he asked, "Are you sure?", she knew at once that they weren't talking about her assessment of his looks (though for both her answer remained the same.)

"Positive," she replied. Severus' resulting grin rivaled the sun.

The pair sat in companionable silence for a few moments, each trying desperately not to look at the other and both failing miserably. After 'accidentally' catching eyes for the seventh time, Severus spoke.

"This is all very unexpected," he murmured, his tone wistful. Hermione smirked.

"Not so unexpected, I might think," she quipped, mirroring their disastrous first encounter.

Severus studied her intently, as if to glean a hidden meaning. Slowly, the hard mask fell away and he began to chuckle loudly.

Hermione's response was cut off by his mouth once again taking command of hers.

Her last thought before she drowned in oxytocin and pure Severus was that she could really get used to this.

ooOoo

Hermione found herself humming a tune as she jogged up the steps of Number 12 later that evening. She was in good spirits, riding the high of infatuation that filled her since the kiss.

Her smile deepened and she paused just inside the door, tracing her still-tingling lips with her fingers.

The brunette paced the entrance hall, considering the events of the evening like slides under a microscope. She was trying her hardest not to read into Severus' lack of verbal response to her advances. Kissing him had been wonderful, but in her heart she'd always hoped for something else; a declaration of mutual attraction, perhaps - something completely contrary to the man's nature, yes, but a part of her had hoped for it nonetheless.

Still, Hermione held the memory of this night like gold in her hands. His small words were so much better than the scorn and derision she'd been expecting. Combined with his smile and the sheer exhilaration that kissing him had brought her, the evening may have been her new favorite memory. She thought absently that it might even be her new Patronus memory, provided she ever had the unfortunate need to use that spell again.

She called out to her best friend. It was high time she tell him about Severus, about her feelings, in a conversation that was sure to make him highly uncomfortable. Joy.

"Harry?"

Her far-fetched hopes of postponing this particular talk were dashed when, from up the stairs, Hermione heard the muffled voice of Harry Potter yell, "In the drawing room, 'Mione!"

The bushy-haired girl trudged up the stairs to the first landing and entered the dimly lit room. The Boy Who Lived was curled into his favorite wingback chair, exhaustion written clearly across his face and a glass of some amber liquid swirling in his hand. He smiled up at her wearily.

"We took Ron to St. Mungo's today," he stated without preamble, taking a pull of his drink. By the grimace that crossed his face, Hermione discerned that it was probably firewhiskey and resisted the urge to smirk, taking the glass he poured for her instead.

The liquor tasted terrible really, much more awful than the last time she'd tried it. It burned at her lips and throat and made her wince. The young woman took a seat on the rug between Harry's chair and the cracking fireplace, nudging his foot with her own.

"How did it go?" Her voice sounded gravelly and she coughed, trying to force the tangle of Severus-related thoughts to the back of her mind for the moment. Harry's responding smile was laced with sadness. He took another sip before continuing his story.

"He put up a fight," the young man admitted, tiredness etched into his every expression. "Molly had to Stun him just to get him out of his room." He sighed deeply. "It was awful, 'Mione. He just kept screaming at us, at everyone," Harry trailed off, his voice small. "The healers didn't know what to do with him," he continued, taking measured breaths. "I told Molly I think we need to take him to a muggle doctor but," he shrugged helplessly, "what if he makes a scene? He'd probably break the Statute of Secrecy within minutes."

Hermione nodded sympathetically, patting his knee in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

Harry downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and made a horrid face. His best friend lost control and began to giggle despite the downright seriousness of the situation. He responded with a glare that softened quickly and the messy-haired boy tumbled from the chair, joining Hermione on the floor.

Both Gryffindors were smiling widely, sticking out their tongues at each other and making silly faces. Their heavy conversation became lost in laughter and the haze of alcohol.

"You are in a decidedly good mood tonight," decided Harry, pointing an accusatory finger in the general direction of her head. "What gives?"

Hermione, though she was just a little tipsy, was in no position to stop her face from blushing a deep pink. Harry's keen eyes caught the action quickly and with a smirk he had her pinned against the carpeting. From there he began to tickle her mercilessly, his fingers harsh against the brunette girl's ribcage. Her breath came in gasps and she nearly screamed with forced laughter, pleading for him to stop in between. In the chaos, neither heard Neville quietly slip into the room, sipping tea and studying them curiously.

"Okay," Hermione shrieked, "You win! I kissed Severus! Are you happy?"

The sound of shattering glass bounded through the room and the two friends turned just in time to see Neville's robes whip around the door frame, leaving nothing but a broken teacup in his wake.

ooOoo

Harry and Hermione both leaped to their feet, empty tumblers rolling forgotten on the rug.

"Neville?"

Hermione's call was more timid. "Nev?"

As if on cue, many loud bangs sounded from the direction of the kitchen. The two brunettes frowned at one another in worry, and together they scampered off down the stairs, wands in hand.

The scene that met them was...confusing. Neville had thrown many of the cabinets open and seemed to be charming any heavy object in reach to fly into the wall. His fists were balled tightly at his sides and the back of his neck was flushed a deep red.

Midway through her perusal, Hermione did a double take, back to his hands still curled up in rage.

He wasn't holding his wand. Her mind, quick as ever, deduced two possibilities. He was either doing some incredibly powerful wandless magic, a skill that he had never displayed to her knowledge...or this was accidental magic.

It frightened her that the latter was probably more likely.

Harry seemed to have come to the same swift conclusion, bless him, and he motioned for her to pocket her wand and go into the hall. Hermione agreed to the second request, but her wand remained out and she hovered near the entrance, listening intently for any sign that Harry needed backup.

From her vantage point sight was impossible, but she heard their words as clear as day. Harry made the first bold move, calling Neville's name softly. From the way his voice faded a bit she inferred that The Boy Who Lived was approaching the other boy. Hermione held her breath.

Neville's response was cold. "Leave, Harry," he demanded, and the clanging in the room faltered slightly before returning with a vengeance.

Harry spoke in a soothing manner, like one would to a fussy infant. "Neville, it's okay," he hushed, "can we talk about this?" Hermione heard the note of desperation he was biting back like the ringing of a bell.

"Yes!" Neville's cry was fierce, full of anguish. "Let's talk about how Hermione's suddenly snogging Professor Snape, the man who made the last year of my life, of ALL of our lives, a living hell!" His voice grew louder still until he was almost screaming. "Oh, and maybe we should talk about the fact that you both knew he was alive. Not only that, but you didn't even bother telling me," the last bit was said in a whisper, and it seemed the fight had left him as, at once, each pot and pan dropped to the floor with a last cavernous boom.

He sounded defeated as he finished, "I thought we were friends."

Hermione could no longer simply keep vigil by the door. She raced in to the room and threw her arms around his neck, ignoring his lack of reception to the motion. "Oh Neville," she yelped, "of course we're friends! I count you among my very best friends. But," she took a quick breath and continued, "it wasn't my secret to tell. Harry found out by accident, I promise." She deferred to the boy in question, who nodded rapidly. She pulled away from the hug, taking Neville's hands instead.

"Nev, I swear to you, Severus is a good man." He looked very much like he wanted to argue that point, but Hermione pressed on. "He was acting as a spy, trying to keep us, all of us, especially Harry, out of harm's way." Once again, the Boy Who Lived professed his nonverbal agreement. She stared hard into Neville's eyes. "I'm not saying he hasn't done horrible things, because he has, probably more than I'll ever be aware of. I'm saying that he's also done good things, honorable things." She sighed deeply, closing her eyes and unconsciously drawing a lazy smile across her face. "I'm saying that he's not the man that you think he is. I think you'd like him if you gave him a chance," she stated finally, her eyes opening to take in the contemplation on his face.

Neville was silent for several moments before he chuckled hoarsely and scratched his neck. "I dunno 'Mione. I mean, me and Snape? I'm not sure if I can just get over seven years of his torture," he confessed baldly. Harry spoke up quickly.

"Come on Neville, how bad can it be? I mean, the guy treated me like garbage, but I'm willing to put the past away." He cleared his throat. "Besides, Hermione is the best judge of character I know. If she likes him, he must be okay."

Neville snorted. "I dunno about that, mate. She likes you too."

Both he and Hermione began to howl with laughter at the utterly affronted look Harry was sporting. Shaking his head, the messy haired boy exited the room with a muttered word.

"Gits."

* * *

a/n. I'm so sorry about the time that this chapter took - I'm currently sitting in the McDonalds parking lot uploading this thing because our wifi is GONE. So sad. The good news is that the next several chapters are fully written. The bad news is, I have no idea when I'll have internet access again. I'm working on it.

As always, thank you for reading! Please review!


	10. And the Angels Sing

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 10: And the Angels Sing

* * *

With both Neville and Harry on board with giving Severus a chance (the former reluctantly), Hermione had decided to host a dinner later that week for the three most important men in her life. With this goal fixed firmly in her mind she began to plan in earnest, drawing up lists and crafting a menu that would rival a Hogwarts feast.

Tuesday morning dawned brightly, reflecting Hermione's high spirits. The day found her teaching her first solo lesson under the watchful gaze of Mrs. Bennett. The young teaching assistant led the class in a guided reading of several pertinent chapters from George Orwell's novel '1984' before fielding student questions about theme and metaphor. She finished each class with a homework assignment (two pages minimum for a creative writing assignment encouraging them to sketch their own dystopian future) and provided each student with a list of common dystopian themes from which they could draw ideas.

When the last bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day for both students and teachers, Hermione had to restrain herself from leaping around the room in abject pleasure. Mrs. Bennett beamed at her from her perch near the back.

"You performed admirably, my dear," she gushed, waving her towards the door. "Go, enjoy the rest of your afternoon, I'll tidy the place up."

Hermione blushed under the older woman's praise. "Thank you, I'll see you in the morning," she replied, wasting no time gathering up her things and exiting the classroom.

She was surprised to find Severus already waiting for her on the other side of the door. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him relaxed against the wall, eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he'd fallen asleep that way. As Hermione approached he cracked open a single eye, then the other, peering at her a bit owlishly. Her responding giggle called to his lips a mock frown and he glared at her, though his eyes also held a touch of mirth.

"Why are you laughing, you tempestuous witch?" Severus' sharp tongue was betrayed by his hands reaching out to take her own, his inscrutable gaze tracking her every movement.

Their fingers laced together and Hermione felt her stomach flutter pleasantly. Without even a cursory glance down the hall to be sure that they were alone she darted forward, pressing a sloppy kiss against the corner of his mouth.

He appeared amused by the action. His lips quirked up slightly at the corners and he asked, "Missed me, did you?"

She nodded absently, brushing her lips softly against his jaw. Finally she spoke. "Curled up against the wall like that, you looked like a sleeping bat," she murmured, pressing a kiss this time against his chin. She continued, "It was a humorous thought."

Severus contemplated her quietly and she fleetingly wondered if he would be offended by the comparison. After a moment under his scrutiny (during which she contemplated disapparition or death if the conversation went south) he began to chuckle, an action that immediately soothed her fears.

She was unprepared for the suddenness of his mouth meeting hers. Hermione gasped and he ran with the moment, sweeping his tongue along the curve of her lips as if asking permission. She wove her arms around his shoulders in reply, pulling him nearer encouragingly.

The moment was nearing perfection, with both witch and wizard wholly enraptured in one another. The hall, the school, and finally the world fell away, leaving nothing but themselves in their own tiny universe.

Through the heartbeat pounding in her ears Hermione could almost make out footsteps. Her head spun wildly. She must have imagined it, surely; she felt in her bones that she and Severus were the last two people on the planet and...

"Ahem."

The pair broke apart with an audible smack. Hermione wheeled around to stare into the face of none other than Ms. Wilkins. The Headteacher graced them both with a wide smirk.

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Snape, how nice to see you both," she commented mildly, as if discussing the weather. "The day has ended. You may be on your way."

Severus was the first to recover from the shock. "Thank you, Ms. Wilkins, I think we shall." He nodded to her formally, tugging a still-frozen Hermione down the hall.

"Have a pleasant evening," the woman called in reply, watching the couple flee the school before chuckling to herself.

"It seems I owe Emily a drink," she mused aloud, before bustling off towards her previous destination.

ooOoo

Hermione was still dazed when they came to the entrance of the school. Severus led her outside and down the stairs before pausing in front of the young witch and resting his hands on her own.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes were wide. "I can't believe the Headteacher caught us snogging," she breathed. Severus' face hardened and he whirled away, coming to rest a few steps from where she stood.

"Are you so embarrassed to be seen with me?" His voice was impassive, but the tension in his shoulders belied the seriousness of the question. Hermione felt as if she'd been slapped.

"Severus, no," she began, rushing towards him to take his face in her hands. He seemed to be holding his breath. "I was so afraid that she was going to fire us, I didn't think..." she trailed off, continuing shyly. "The kissing...that was amazing."

His shoulders sagged with relief and he rested his forehead against her own. "I enjoyed myself as well," he replied quietly, gracing her with one of his heartwarming tender smiles. She felt herself begin to melt into him and forced herself to turn away, lest they spend the evening joined at the lips on the stoop of their employer.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Her tone was deeper than usual, almost throaty, and she felt her cheeks heat up at the physical reminder of his power over her. He smirked.

"That sounds lovely," he agreed, taking her hand and choosing a seemingly random direction for them to travel in.

The pair was quiet for a few long moments, simply enjoying the company of one another as they traipsed along the sidewalk. Hermione broke the silence first.

"I wanted to ask," she started, looking up at him with hope written clearly on her face, "if you'd agree to dinner at Grimmauld place on Thursday."

He appeared surprised. "Is Mr. Potter aware of this invitation?"

"Actually," she said, beaming, "it was Harry's idea."

Severus stared at her like she'd grown a second head. She laughed happily.

"Harry's very interested in burying the hatchet, as muggles say," Hermione intoned. "I've also made it clear that you're very important to me, and that I want all of the important people in my life to get along."

He stopped her then, pivoting to stare at her. "What does that mean?"

Hermione smiled beguilingly. "Well, getting along with someone means that you can stand to be in the same room with them for longer than a few minutes without murdering them," she stated patiently, and he rolled his eyes, quelling her laughter with a long stare.

"You know what I'm asking," he argued bluntly. "You said that I'm important to you. We keep kissing like errant schoolchildren, and when I'm near you I..." his voice lapsed, and when he continued it was impossibly low, full of confusion. "What am I to you?"

Hermione considered the question for a long second before meeting his eyes. "I like you, Severus," she said plainly. "When you're not around, I miss you. I think about you so often that it's actually kind of embarrassing." She toed the ground with her shoe, suddenly nervous. "I want to be with you. I want to go on dates and be a couple," she stated, squeezing his hand gently. "Would you want that?"

His smile was fond. "I don't think I'm what most witches would call 'boyfriend material', Hermione," he replied, lips twisting awkwardly over the unfamiliar words. The young woman chuckled.

"Maybe not." She smiled reassuringly up at him. "It's a good thing I'm not most witches."

"Indeed," he murmured, capturing her lips in another sweet kiss.

It was a long while before either of them moved.

ooOoo

Hermione entered Grimmauld place that evening laden with groceries for Thursday's dinner. She made it only halfway to the kitchen before the assault came.

"AUNT 'MIONE!" The high-pitched voice hit her ears with all the subtlety of a tidal wave and she barely bit back a groan. The next attack was physical, and Hermione found herself swaying, unable to move as Teddy Lupin became one with her legs.

"Well, hello there," she responded, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. "Where's Uncle Harry?"

The young boy's sweet face peered up at her. "I dunno," he said cheerfully. "Do you want to play?"

Hermione felt her irritation begin to melt away. She smiled warmly. "We need to put the groceries away first, Teddy. Do you want to help?"

He nodded solemnly, relinquishing her legs at once. He held out his hands dutifully and Hermione bit back a grin, instead placing a loaf of bread into his outstretched arms.

"Be gentle with this," she instructed firmly. His arms wove around it like it was made of gold.

"I promise," he stated, beaming up at her. Hermione gestured for him to lead her to the kitchen, which he did with an air of importance.

The pair found the missing Uncle Harry seated at the dining room table, along with Andromeda Tonks. They appeared to be deep in conversation, concluding their talk as the others entered the room.

"Oh, I wondered where you'd gotten to," Andromeda mused, her eyes leveled at her grandson. "Are you bothering Aunt Hermione, Teddy?"

The boy shook his head firmly. "I'm helping," he said fiercely, still hugging the bread to his chest. The three adults shared looks filled with exasperation and laughter.

Hermione dumped her parcels on the counter unceremoniously and wove her way to the other side of the kitchen, wrapping the older woman in a brief hug. "If I'd known you were visiting I would have cut my afternoon short and come home," she admonished lightly, taking a seat next to the older woman. "How have you been?"

"I've been well," Andromeda responded. "I was just telling Harry that I've been in contact with my sister."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

Andromeda sniffed disdainfully, though the effect was somewhat ruined when the corners of her mouth twitched. "Don't make that face, dear, you'll get stuck."

Harry guffawed, taking a drink of tea. "I think it's brilliant," he stated, beaming at them both. "Lucius is a right bastard, and Draco did some questionable things during the war, but Narcissia saved my life."

"My sister has always been willing to do whatever it takes to protect those she loves," Andromeda admitted. "Though she has made mistakes in the past, the important thing right now is that she's trying."

Hermione had to smile at that. "I'm glad," she said. "If more for your sake than for her own."

Harry raised his teacup in a mock toast. "Hear, hear."

From across the room a huge sigh sounded. The adults turned their attention to Teddy, who was still cuddling the loaf of bread with a petulant look on his face. Finally he cried, "Are we gonna go play or not?"

The sound of uproarious laughter filled the room for many minutes to come.

* * *

a/n. I cannot apologize enough for not posting this sooner. This has been the weirdest month of my life (freak snow storms, week-long power outages, traveling, etc) but I'm home, and we have wifi again! Well...sort of, we can't get it to work as wifi so we have to use an ethernet cable, but it works.

I'd like to address the issue of Teddy speaking, as I can see where that would throw some readers. It would perhaps have been better of me to include some classic 'little kid' language, but unfortunately, I find writing in dialects clunky and encumbering and choose not to do so. We're not given a clear glimpse of what wizarding children look and sound like at this age. I find it difficult to believe that their biology would not make it possible for them to be a bit more advanced than the children you and I are used to. My reasoning is based largely on my research concerning Tolkien's works, as he created several races with advanced abilities and lifespans (much like Rowling's wizarding culture). While these conclusions may not fit into a general societal standard, canon does leave this area pretty grey. If this bothered you, well, this will be Teddy's sole appearance in this fic.

Thank you so much for reading, please review!


	11. Full Moon at Night

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 11: Full Moon at Night

* * *

Before any of them knew what was happening, Thursday was upon them. The moment the school bell rang, Hermione had dashed out the door, having already explained to Severus that she would be spending the early evening cloistered away in the kitchen and that she expected him promptly at 7:30.

Together with Harry she had compiled the type of menu that you only learn to create under the tutelage of the Molly Weasley School for Portion Sizes. It was enormous, with dishes from every food group and almost every culture. Still, Hermione was nervous. She knew how Severus took his tea and the kind of books he was apt to read, and if pressed could probably identify his brand of soap by smell alone, but she had little to no experience with the man's palette. Would he prefer a pasta dish, or did he enjoy the occasional curry? Did he prefer heaver fare or was he more prone to select a lighter repast for his evening meal?

The image of Severus Snape ordering a delicate watercress salad at a fancy restaurant rose unbidden in her mind and she giggled aloud, alerting Harry to her inattention.

"Hermione?" He waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione, Hermione, do you copy?"

The young woman in question rolled her eyes, moving quickly to stir a pot that was threatening to boil over. "You've got to stop saying that, Harry. It was bad enough when Ginny kept parroting it, do you want Neville to pick it up?"

Both winced slightly as they remembered the months of their sixth year that had been endlessly filled with the youngest Weasley abusing (and often butchering) the cache of muggle phrases her muggleborn friends had mentioned in her presence.

Harry shook his head as if willing the memories to dissipate more quickly. "That's not the point," he stated firmly, opening the stove and removing a tray with a few graceful flicks of his wand. "What's gotten you distracted?"

Hermione felt a bit of melodramatic wind filling her sails and had to forcibly push the urge to mope about how little she seemed to know her boyfriend, filing the conversation away for a later date when she could babble to another girl. Although she had never generally hesitated at spilling her metaphorical guts to Harry, he could be a bit thick. Instead, she revealed a different thought, one that was causing her a fair bit of mental anguish on its own.

"I'm rather terrified about tonight, if you must know," she admitted, removing a large pot from the stove and replacing it with a large wok. She gave the pan a moment to heat. "This little evening has the potential to be an unmitigated disaster."

Harry sighed deeply, relaxing back against the counter and running his hand through his hair. Hermione smiled at the familiar gesture. He thought for a moment, his face drawn in contemplation, before he returned her troubled gaze.

"I'm not going to pretend that this will be easy," he enunciated softly, reaching out to grasp her hand in his larger one. "There's going to be a lot of history in this room tonight. Our only options are to hide from it, or face up to it," he stated, then cracked a sudden grin. His next words were spoken dryly, with only the barest hint of mirth showing through. "Good thing they didn't make us Gryffindors because we look oh-so-dashing in crimson."

Hermione had to laugh at that one. "Point taken," she replied, squeezing his hand hard before dropping it and pulling him instead into a fierce hug. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Harry," she murmured from the junction of his shoulder. The young man's chest shook as he chuckled.

"I dunno, 'Mione," he mused as they pulled apart. His hands came to rest on her shoulders. "You'd probably be a bit like Carrie at the prom."

Hermione gasped indignantly and leveled a swat in his direction, which he dodged easily, laughter rumbling in his throat. She huffed and turned to stomp from the room, muttering all the way up the stairs about The Boy Who Lived and cursing the tiny cinema down the street and their ridiculous weekend horror movie marathons.

ooOoo

She was often called the brightest witch of her age, she recalled firmly, staring woefully into the mirror. The woman staring back at her was certainly a poor showing for that title. Her hair, while still a bit damp, was already beginning to frizz into its natural state of unruliness. Her face was fine, a bit spotty, but she'd already applied a zit-removing solution and could even now see the blemishes fading. Which left...

Her eyes traveled the length of her body, pausing to pick up on every imperfection. The scar from Dolhov was most prominent - it cut a firm line down her torso, drawing the eye instantly. Her gaze ricocheted to her other prominent scar. At one time, she had applied so many glamors to cover the still-pink skin on her arm that only Mad Eye's discerning gaze would have been able to see what was beneath. As time had passed and she had healed from the mental anguish of that day, she had come to understand that her scars, particularly the one marking her as 'mudblood', were far from ugly. She wore them proudly, as evidence of all that she had survived.

She could only hope that Severus would see them in the same way.

Hermione Granger liked to think that she was not a vain person but, like most girls her age, still understood body image to be paramount in attraction. She had never been one to flaunt her figure, generally hiding her frame under bulky jumpers and other comfortable items. As things progressed with Severus, however, she found herself more and more interested in seeing what all the fuss was about in terms of playing up her assets.

With that in mind, she donned a bathrobe and crept towards Ginny's room.

Borrowing her redheaded housemates' clothes was a less than ideal situation, she admitted, but none of her own clothes would do and Ginny certainly kept a more interesting wardrobe. Hermione tried not to dwell on the fact that the younger girl was taller and more willowy in contrast to her own curvy figure and instead on hoping that there was something, anything, that might work.

Ginvera's closet was not the most heartening sight. There were few pieces left and most were for summer, muggle denims and the odd t-shirt. In desperation, she began to dig deeper, shuffling forgotten belongings aside frantically for several moments before happening upon her salvation.

Lying abandoned there on the floor of the wardrobe was the light, airy dress that Ginny had worn for a few of the more formal post-war celebrations. The fabric was soft and supple, the cut forgiving; Hermione noted with pleasure that it might even fit without too many alterations. Beaming, she dashed back down the stairs to once again take up residence in front of her mirror.

Changing the fabric to reflect a soft powdery blue color was easy enough. The sizing was a bit more difficult. The gown was breezy and loose about the hips, but the bust was several inches shy of being able to house her bosom comfortably and she was hesitant to make any changes that would irreparably damage the original structure.

A quick glance at the clock revealed her timeframe to be much shorter than anticipated, a quarter hour at most if Severus was simply punctual and did not arrive early. Sighing, she decided to simply buy her friend a new dress in any event and took her wand to the fabric, sacrificing the back and giving the front a bit of extra space as needed before slipping it on.

The result was better than she'd dared hope. The neckline of the gown appeared slightly matronly at first glance, skimming just below her collarbone. A quickly muttered spell brought the bodice in to rest snugly against her ribs, leaving the fuller skirt to flow freely to her knees. She twirled to peruse the back, smiling triumphantly at the effect she'd created there. While the front of the dress was a bit staid and plain, the reverse was anything but. She had altered it so that it dipped almost dangerously, revealing a good amount of creamy skin before the fabric came to rest at the base of her spine. The result was pleasing to her own eye, and hopefully would be to Severus' as well.

She was left with just enough time to sequester her hair into an artfully messy bun at the nape of her neck, leaving a few errant curls to frame her face. A knock sounded at her door as she applied a small bit of lip balm and she called out to Harry, "Come in!"

Hermione turned to greet her best friend, eager for him to pay her a few of his wonderful brotherly compliments. Instead of Harry, however, the door opened to reveal an entirely different guest.

"Hermione," Ron gasped, clutching at his side. He stumbled into the room. "Help me."

ooOoo

She was frozen, unsure as to what to do. Ronald Weasley looked as though he'd been to hell. He was panting like he'd run all the way from Ottery St. Catchpole, and from the state of him she just might believe that was the case.

His legs seemed to give out from under him and he dropped to the floor, sucking in air. Without further ado she fell to the ground next to him, pushing his hair away from his forehead and cooing in what she hoped was a comforting manner. He relaxed into her touch, his eyes sliding shut and mouth slackening. When he had calmed sufficiently she ventured, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Ron murmured almost sleepily, "Mum wants to send me to a muggle hospital. Told her I won't go. Gave her the slip when she was busy. Must've splinched myself," he gestured feebly to the hand clutched against his ribs. She pulled it away to assess the damage, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of his bloodied shirt previously hidden by his robes.

"Ron," she explained softly, trying to keep him calm, "we need to get you to St. Mungo's."

He jerked his head away, eyes full of betrayal. "No," he snapped, his voice raising quickly. "I won't go back there, I won't!" He stood unsteadily, watching her warily as he began to back away.

Hermione extended her hands, attempting to placate him. "You need to see a Healer, Ron. We need to get your side fixed."

Ron pinned her with an incredulous stare. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Hermione refused to rise to the bait, letting her voice wash over him like the ebb and flow of the tide. "I'm worried about you, Ronald. That wound is going to get infected if you don't let someone see to it. I can help you."

He laughed harshly. "I'm sure you'd love to rescue me," he bit out. His next words were yelled. "I could be another one of your charity cases! Tell me, how are your bloody house-elves these days?"

She replied, hurt evident in her voice, "That's not fair."

"Oh yeah?" His eyes were hard as he challenged her. "You're telling me that the great Hermione Granger doesn't love saving poor unfortunate creatures from their broken lives?" He was almost screaming now, his voice reverberating through the room like the most painful echoes of the friend she no longer knew. "Are you actually telling me that you don't get a sick pleasure out of it? Saint Granger, champion of lost causes. Have they given you a medal yet?"

A single tear slipped unheeded down her cheek. "I-"

Her reply was cut of by the banging of her bedroom door flying open. Ron turned to stare down the length of three wands shoved unceremoniously into his face. Undaunted, he began to chuckle loudly.

"You're all hanging out with Snape now?" He seemed almost amused by the appearance of his former potions professor alongside two of his former Gryffindors. Severus rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you've ended up in bizarro world," he said laconically, sneering at the redhead. To Ron's credit, he let the reference go with good grace, though in truth he may have not recognized it as meaning anything in the first place. It warmed Hermione's heart, however, and she smiled gratefully in the former Hogwarts professor's direction.

Wanting to end the conflict quickly, Harry sent a quick and silent stunner Ron's way before binding and levitating him. He glanced around at the rest of his comrades, seeming almost resigned.

"To St. Mungo's, then?"

It hardly garnered a resounding response, but all made their way to the drawing room fireplace nonetheless.

* * *

a/n. Yes, you are getting two chapters today, as a resounding "I'm sorry" and "I really missed you guys" and finally "Thank you for reading and being amazing".

Please review!


	12. We'll Get By

On the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 12: We'll Get By

* * *

The group burst through the entrance of the wizarding hospital as if there were dragons roaring at their backs. They made their way towards the Welcome Witch at her little desk, Ron's body trailing behind like a sick sort of marionette. The squat blonde only gave them a cursory glance before slapping an admittance form on the table and jerking her thumb toward the stairs.

"Fourth floor, spell damage," she droned monotonously, flipping the pages of a glossy copy of Witch Weekly. Harry nodded gratefully and began to sprint in the direction she had indicated.

They were greeted at the entry doors to the ward by a young man donning the standard lime green robes of his profession. He took over levitation of the body with a quick flick of his wand, making introductions even as he worked.

"My name is Healer Hartley," he greeted in a pleasant tenor. "Can anyone tell me what happened?"

Hermione cleared her throat anxiously. "He splinched himself. I was trying to get him to come here for treatment and he had sort of an…episode," she explained, unsure as to how to proceed. Harry stepped in.

"He was screaming. We were afraid he was going to hurt himself or someone else, so we stunned him and, here we are I guess," he finished lamely, spreading his arms wide. Hartley nodded his understanding.

"Right, we'll get him patched up in no time," he said authoritatively, indicating for some mediwitches to escort the body into the short-term ward. "There's a visitor's area one floor up, if you'd like to pass the time there," he continued, making a note on a piece of parchment and sending it zooming down the hall with a muttered spell.

They professed their thanks as he wheeled away, disappearing behind the same door as Ron and the nurses had. Hermione blinked, feeling suddenly very heavy. She started as a pair of hands, Severus' hands, took her own and began to lead her toward a row of chairs lining the wall. She capitulated bonelessly.

"Tea!" Neville's strangled exclamation made her jump. He was giving Harry a meaningful look, attempting to inconspicuously guide him towards the stairs. The Boy Who Lived nodded.

"We'll be in the visitor's room," he explained unnecessarily, and they bolted from the ward like their lives depended on leaving. Hermione chuckled.

"Bless them," she murmured, squeezing Severus' fingers. He quirked a smile, kneeling on the floor by her feet and resting his pointed chin hesitantly upon her knee. She smiled warmly at the intimate action, tracing his jaw with her knuckles and wondering not for the first time how she had gotten so lucky.

It was he who broke the comfortable silence. His voice was hoarse as he whispered, "You look fantastic." Hermione blushed.

"Do you like it? I wanted to look nice tonight." The admission that she had essentially dressed up for him made her feel rather naked, and she ducked her head, gazing at him through her lashes.

Had she been studying him during that brief moment, she might have caught the astonishment that flitted across his face in response. Instead, she was treated to a lazy smile forming on his thin lips. Her mouth twisted into a shy grin.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't go as planned," she apologized profusely. "I had this huge amazing dinner planned, and some truly fantastic desserts." She added nonchalantly, "I think Harry was going to bring out his muggle board games and everything."

Severus' expression was one of pure horror and Hermione could hold out no longer, giggling loudly. He growled mockingly, wrapping a hand around her knee. Without warning he pulled her from the rickety chair and into his lap, trapping her in his arms in one swift move.

It had arguably been meant as some kind of joke, yet as Hermione felt herself pressed against Severus' firm body, she began to find it incredibly difficult to breathe. He was frozen, the laughter in his eyes slowly darkening to something deeper, and she sighed almost imperceptibly before settling further into his arms, resting her forehead on his own and tangling her hands around his wiry shoulders.

It felt as though they sat there together for years, as though they lived there in each other's embrace. Hermione whispered his name like a prayer that had been written on her heart since the dawn of time, feeling the beat of their combined heartbeats against every inch of her skin.

Finally, after what might have been eternity, he pulled away reluctantly. It took him only moments to right them both and to deposit her in the chair once again, taking the seat beside her and winding their hands together once more.

Hermione cleared her throat, feeling almost uncomfortably warm. "Severus, I-"

At that moment, the blasted Healer chose to reappear, to the disappointment of the couple. The former Gryffindor stood to greet him, though she plainly refused to drop her boyfriend's hand and kept them tangled together at her side like a tether.

"We've taken care of the wound," the young man said without preamble. "It looked much worse than it was. He's sedated right now, he came out of the stunner ready to fight, but the Calming Draught seems to be wearing off at an alarming rate. We'd like to keep him for observation," he finished, tapping the parchment he held with his wand twice before smiling wanly at them both. Hermione nodded her thanks.

The Healer made to move away, but Hermione stopped him. She asked pleadingly, "Can I see him?" He contemplated her briefly before nodding.

"Only one at a time, I would say," he commented, making his way quickly down the hall. Severus scowled.

"Not that I'm anxious to spend time visiting with Mr. Weasley," he intoned, "but I really don't like the idea of you alone with him."

Hermione grimaced. "He's been violent, true, but he hasn't hurt anyone," she replied. "There should be other Healers on the ward. I doubt we'll be truly alone."

Severus sighed deeply, pulling her fingers toward his mouth to press a kiss against the junction of her knuckles. "Be careful."

She gave him the softest of smiles. "I'll be back before you know it."

ooOoo

The sort-term wing on St. Mungo's fourth level was very similar to what Hermione remembered of the Dai Llewellyn Ward, the section of the hospital treating creature-induced injuries. The hospital itself always made her a bit uncomfortable, in truth. Muggle hospitals were quiet and sterile and, though she did not care to admit it, she much preferred the quiet of non-magical illness and injury. Steeling herself, she began to work her way to the end of the small room, averting her eyes against some of the nastier spell damage on display.

Ron had been placed in the bed nearest the dingy window at the back of the ward, with a few large spaces separating him from the nearest patient. He lay back against the pillows and gazed morosely in the direction of the wall, giving no reaction to Hermione's approach. She studied him closely.

"Ron?"

His voice was sullen. "What?"

The older girl shuffled her feet. "How are you feeling?"

He faced her then, rolling his eyes upward. "I'm splendid, Hermione. Honestly, how am I supposed to feel?"

She grated her teeth, trying carefully to keep the irritation at his continued attitude our of her voice as she tried again. "How is your side?"

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered bitterly, back to his staring contest with the wall.

She became desperate to draw him out. "Ron, please, will you just-"

He roared, "Just what?" The room fell absolutely silent. Hermione's eyes shifted around the ward in trepidation, noting with dismay that no Healers were present. The redhead continued his tirade.

"WHAT? Am I supposed to just get over it? My brother died, Hermione! HE DIED! Do you just expect me to get better, like it never happened? Like he never existed?" As he spoke he began to rise up from his bed until he was squatting there, his face a harsh mask of challenge.

Her expression was one of hurt. "Never," she whispered. He rounded on her.

"You did!" His voice was laced with pain. "All of those people that we lost, and it doesn't even bother you. You just moved on with your life," he hissed, glaring. "What about your parents, did you just 'get over it'?"

The shock of him bringing up her parents, lost to her for so long without hope of retrieving their memories, made something in her snap. "You don't get over it, Ronald!" Her harsh tone seemed to alarm him and she tried to exercise some control. "You carry it with you, and eventually it becomes a part of who you are." Slowly she began to wind down, her voice dropping to an almost gentle timbre. "It gets woven into this tapestry of things and feelings and experiences that make you the person you've become. But you need help." She pierced him with a meaningful stare. "You don't carry it by yourself. You find people to carry it with you."

All at once his anger deflated like the popping of a balloon. As if the entire world were pressing upon his shoulders he collapsed, slumping on the bed in a graceless heap. Hermione made her way to her long-time friend's side, taking her time so as not to startle him unduly. Once there she knelt near the frame, making a conscious effort to show him only her love and support and not the paralyzing fear coursing through her veins.

She reached out to squeeze his hand and, for the first time since May, he didn't pull away.

ooOoo

Neither spoke any more after that. When a quarter hour had passed he had retreated into himself completely, recoiling from her touch. She sat with him for a little while longer before returning to the hall and the solid presence of Severus. Harry was also present, explaining Neville's absence in his succinct way.

"His parents," he told her, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the long-term ward. She nodded absently, taking a seat beside him.

The wait for their friend was quite short. He came back through the doors only minutes later, tucking something small into the pocket of his denims and smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry for making you wait," he offered, making a feeble attempt to brush off the situation.

Hermione was more than willing to let it slide, particularly since Severus was present. "No problem, Neville," she replied warmly, nodding towards the staircase. "Shall we head back?"

All parties acquiesced and they left the hospital in search of the nearest apparition point. Hermione took Severus' hand as they walked and the group began to make halted conversation.

"We still have food at home," Harry mentioned from the head of the pack. Neville chuckled.

"That's a pretty vast understatement," he hooted. "We've got so much prepared for dinner we could probably feed all of Hogwarts." Hermione grinned.

"We could definitely a single year of students, but honestly, I've seen teenage boys eat. I'd hate to see the Hogwarts grocery bill," she remarked, laughing a bit at the idea.

Harry groaned comically. "If you're both quite finished playing a rousing round of 'hypothetical situations', I could use some help finding our blasted apparition point." He craned his neck around, adding, "I could have sworn it was around here..."

"I believe we appeared just down there," Severus spoke up, pointing in the direction of a small boarded-up deli. "The alley in the back."

The foursome took off down the street to duck surreptitiously into the abandoned lot. Harry's grin of thanks towards his former professor held no animosity, causing Hermione to beam at The Boy Who Lived. He winked broadly before turning on the spot, disappearing with a small 'pop'. Neville quickly followed.

Hermione's fingers wrapped around Severus' wrist to halt his apparition. He looked at her, bemused.

"Severus," she began, "about earlier-"

He wrenched his hand from her grasp. "It won't happen again," he said woodenly, avoiding her gaze. She rolled her eyes, letting out a noise of dissent.

"That's not what I'm saying! Why do you always do that?"

He stared at her once again, evidently at a loss as to what the conversation was even about. "Do what?"

Hermione groaned loudly. "You put words in my mouth! You assume the worst in me," she confessed, invading his personal space until they were nose to nose and then cheek to cheek. She wrapped her arms around his whippet-thin waist, pulling him close enough to press her lips against his ear.

"Have I said anything to make you doubt me?" She brushed a feather-soft kiss to his neck. "Have I done anything that would lead you to believe that I don't want you?"

"I suppose," he whispered, pulling her into his embrace more comfortably, "I don't understand why _you_ would want to be with _me_ in the first place."

Hermione sighed, rubbing circles through his shirt with her fingers. "Isn't it obvious?"

Severus shook his head, clinging to her desperately. She smiled against his ear, her words impossibly low, tracing the words along his back as she said them just for him.

"I'm in love with you."

* * *

a/n. This isn't how or when I planned the big 'I love you' moment but, the heart wants what the heart wants.

Thank you for reading! Please review!


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